


Between the Lines

by senbazuru



Category: Free!
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Slow Burn, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, probably, referenced homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 89,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senbazuru/pseuds/senbazuru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Makoto upped and moved to Tokyo in order to fulfil his dream of becoming a successful children's author. He's landed himself a book deal, and maybe something else as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AU...

 

 

 

 

Makoto felt just a little sick as he waited in an empty meeting room at the achingly trendy headquarters of Future Fish publishing house. He told himself it was simply a mixture of having not been able to stomach his breakfast that morning along with the stressfully early commute in order to make it across town during an oppressively heavy rush hour. But it probably didn't help that he'd factored in such a large margin of error that he'd actually arrived embarrassingly early, and had subsequently already been waiting around for nearly half an hour.

This was in fact his second meeting at the small literary firm since they'd taken on his manuscript, so it wasn't even as if he'd never been there before, but the streamlined decor of confusing modern art and bafflingly contemporary furnishings somehow jarred uncomfortably against his own admitted inexperience and quietly rattling nerves. Even the table was intimidating, it's polished cherrywood grain seeming to stretch out towards eternity under the random piles of paperwork that his newly appointed agent had inexplicably left him with. She was surprisingly nice actually, given the flashy impression that the premises gave off, but after bringing him some tea and telling him to 'just relax for a while', she'd scurried off to answer an obnoxiously loud telephone that was bleating incessantly in the main office and which monopolised her full attention thereafter like a difficult child.

Thinking back, the last time he'd been in this room was a total blur. It'd all kicked off about a month or so ago when he'd made his daily, soul destroying journey down to the smug little bank of mailboxes in the foyer of his apartment building, thus continuing his familiar routine of collecting and then brooding over his inevitable crop of freshly dispatched rejection letters. He did at least try to stay positive, but it was hard, attempting to make it in the surprisingly cut-throat world of children's literature whilst juggling various laughably mundane and badly paid temp jobs in the meantime. He'd moved to Tokyo to kickstart his career, but instead had ended up with no social life to speak of and a depressingly intricate grasp of Excel.

But then it happened. It had been just another regular day, he'd gone downstairs in his pjs as usual, ignoring the weird looks he received from the building's other inhabitants and had collected his mail like some sort of grumpy bird amassing further construction material for his pessimistic nest. And then at the kitchen table, gratefully sipping the black coffee that he couldn't actually remember getting a taste for, his hair all mussed and his half-moon reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He'd needed to sit there in electrified silence for a very long time, his heart and lungs misfiring strangely in his chest as his white knuckled hands kept an irrationally tight grasp on a single sheet of paper.

Finally, an interested response to all the countless query letters he'd diligently sent off to the myriad publishers handling children's literature in Tokyo, months of ingrained hopelessness noticeably slipping from his posture as the minutes ticked by. At last it seemed his little book could potentially get the green light, and suddenly the world was golden.

A few days later he'd been called in for a meeting, where he'd met his new agent for the first time, and they'd worked through all the legal preamble and covered most of the processes he'd need to be aware of as a debuting author. It'd been a lot of information to take in at one sitting, and although everyone he'd come into contact with had been nothing but enthusiastic and willing to guide him though, it had still felt like an incredibly daunting process by the time they were finished. In truth, he hadn't really thought much further than getting accepted. Future Fish weren't exactly in the big leagues themselves, they were an upstart publishing house run by a surprisingly young staff, but demographic aside their front list was quite impressive for such a newly established company and really he was just exceedingly grateful to be given the opportunity.

Makoto shifted his unfocused stare away from a quite frankly disturbing sculpture of a spooky dragon-monster-type-thing, roughly carved out of some dark variety of wood and poised menacingly on the sideboard near the door. He'd never been a great fan of the macabre, or horror of any kind for that matter, and it's little beady eyes and sharpened teeth only seemed to compound his creeping sense of unease. He was maybe starting to feel a little out of his depth. Gently he swivelled back round in one of the many boardroom chairs, each opulently upholstered in expensive looking aged chestnut leather and placed at intervals around the table like imposing high court judges. Drifting again, he set his sights on the sprawling cityscape to be seen from the large expanse of glass that made up one entire wall. Shit. He knew he was stressed if he'd already started anthropomorphising the furniture.

It wasn't as if the place had a particularly bad vibe or anything, he was just massively on edge because this was so important for everything he wanted to achieve. Spooky-dragon-thing wasn't exactly helping though, and a shiver ran down his neck without even having to look at it. Perhaps it spoke of just how naive he'd been when starting out, but he'd always imagined his letters arriving at slightly fluffy, playful offices more akin to the colourful children's section of an actual book shop. But this was apparently the reality of business, of a serious and professional atmosphere.

"Nagisa I swear, if you call me Gou one last time I'm gonna crack you so hard over the head with the heaviest book I can find that you'll end up even more of a short-arse than you are already..." Came the voice of his serious and professional agent as she came clacking in high heels through the door with two of her colleagues in tow. "Ah, Tachibana-san," she switched easily "sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Um, not at all," Makoto dismissed awkwardly as he stood to greet them, subconsciously smoothing out the creases in the one and only suit he currently owned, "I'm grateful you could spare the time."

"No way Mako-chan! I can't wait to get started..." And Makoto's line of sight shifted down a few inches from his immaculately dressed agent to a little blond guy wearing a strikingly pink sports jacket and an overtly cutesy penguin T-shirt. It was definitely a statement, was this what they called hipster?

"Mako-chan?" He found himself questioning out loud instead of just thinking it, and Matsuoka-San sighed in a manner that suggested this probably happened quite a lot. She reluctantly shifted a step to her right to make space for her associates, Makoto belatedly registering the quiet presence of a second man, tallish with red framed glasses and wearing an exceptionally beautiful grey business suit accented by a tie that matched his purple tinged hair.

"This is Hazuki-san..." she motioned wearily towards the flamboyant blond.

"Nah, call me Nagisa... No wait, Nagisa-chan! Definitely Nagisa-chan!" He enthused, sending a cheeky magenta wink that Makoto couldn't quite decide if it was mildly inappropriate or strangely endearing. Matsuoka-san exhaled with audible disapproval.

"... And this is Ryugazaki-san."

"Nice to meet you," the taller guy said courteously, offering his card "I look forward to working together" he added earnestly, fractionally adjusting the stylish pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Uh, thanks!" Makoto bumbled and then winced internally as he accepted the business card with both hands. For someone with a relatively decent set of social skills, Makoto found he was actually pretty terrible at networking. He scanned the exquisitely printed rectangle, but instead of reading the smartly inscribed text only noted that the palette of colours seemed to coordinate perfectly with Ryugazaki-san's attire.

"Ooh! Mako-chan, take mine too..." Hazuki-san shrieked excitedly as he began rummaging through his pockets, emptying their assorted contents into the reluctant hands of his colleagues. The three of them watched with varying degrees of surprise as he casually eked out his belongings - novelty pen, strawberry lip balm, pink snakeskin wallet, phone with a rather impractical amount of dangling charms attached - giving a short commentary on each new item as it was produced. "Here we go..." he announced triumphantly, taking a shiny enamel case from his jeans pocket and finally handing over one of his cards. It had a penguin on it. Apparently, dressing to match your stationary was a thing.

"Shall we sit?" Matsuoka-san suggested after a short pause, placing her share of Hazuki-san's crap on the table and pulling out one of the leather chairs before taking a seat. "So, how have you been this last couple of weeks? You seemed a little shell shocked the last time we met" and she smiled with a warmth that reached all the way up into her ruby tinted eyes. Yeah, she was nice. He got the impression she was the type of person who put all of themselves into their job, and enjoys it. Makoto felt his shoulders relax just a little.

"Mn," he affirmed sheepishly as he scratched the nape of his neck "it's all happened so fast..." And he couldn't help a wistful little thought back to the blank sheet of faintly lined paper where this had all began. The three colleagues shared a knowing smile around the table, seemingly reading his far away mind.

"Well, I know it's been a lot to take in, but now the formalities are over with we can get on with the fun bit..." And she drummed her crimson varnished nails on the tabletop with subconscious excitement.

"That's right!" Hazuki-san confirmed. "And it just so happens you've landed the number one team at Future Fish!" He said with determination, nudging his elbow into the taller guy's ribs. Surprisingly, he didn't seem fazed by the blond's antics one bit. Makoto couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"I'll be your copyeditor for this project," Ryugazaki-san stated proudly. "Meaning I'll be going through your manuscript to make sure there are no spelling or grammatical errors, tidying up sentence structure and so on..." Makoto could've pinpointed the exact moment the bespectacled man checked himself, a slight blush sweeping onto his face as his eyes shot wide. It was oddly nice to have someone else be flustered for a change. "Ah, I... I'm not implying your work is sloppy Tachibana-san..." But Makoto was already shaking his head, smiling reassuringly.

"Rei-chan's a perfectionist," Hazuki-san explained helpfully, gesturing towards the slightly embarrassed man at his side and then mimed pushing an invisible pair of glasses up onto his own button-nose, "to be accurate is to be beautiful" he informed in a voice which was obviously supposed to be in imitation of Ryugazaki-san. "Anyway, I'm the typesetter," he continued quickly, skilfully avoiding any ensuing backlash "I make things look pretty too, I'll help you decide on what the layout should be..."

"Speaking of which," Matsuoka-san interjected cheerfully, rising out of her chair a little so she could retrieve a pile of the forgotten paperwork, "I've got some illustrations for you to take a look at, don't worry if there's nothing you like - I took the liberty of sending a partial to a few of the artists on our books, but it might just give you an idea" and she offered over a slim portfolio of images.

Makoto inhaled a steady breath as he accepted the ring bound folder, this was big. But to be honest, he hadn't really thought much about this bit either. He began flicking through the pages, there was some very talented work indeed, and it was interesting to see the different interpretations of the same little snippet of his story. There was a mixture of various art styles, from very cartoonish drawings, to images using innovative digital techniques and sketches creating more traditional examples. He felt a little bad for dismissing some outright, the series done in spidery black ink were way too sharp and scribbley, not fitting with his imagination at all. It was odd, trying to reconcile what was in his head with what was on the paper.

And then he saw it. It was as if his mind had been tipped up and shaken out onto the page. All soft. Sweeping lines and subtle shading, but with wonderfully vivid colours, and was this really watercolour? He could admit that he didn't know much about art, but if he did, if he possessed any ability whatsoever, this would have been his vision too. He couldn't take his eyes off it.

"Anything you like?" Matsuoka-san asked softly, and Makoto was suddenly aware that he'd probably been too silent and too motionless for quite a while now. He looked up with dazed green eyes at the people he'd unintentionally forgotten existed, but was forced to focus back on the picture a moment later, as if it possessed some kind of innate magnetic property.

"This one" he spoke with a dryness in his throat.

"Oh," she sounded surprised "well you don't have to pick for definite-"

"This one" Makoto repeated with soft insistence, and he held the folder open for them all to see. His mind was already made, and all of his gradually accumulated nervousness had suddenly tricked away. He didn't miss the flicker of something along the lines of amusement pass between them, but he was too preoccupied with studying the painting to care.

His thumb stroked idly across the neat little signature at the corner of the composition. Nanase Haruka. He wondered what kind of a person she was.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, AU's are hard! There's just so much more stuff I want to get out of my brain than usual...

 

 

 

Makoto drowsily rolled over into the cooler space at the centre of his double bed, one hand stretching underneath the crisp spare pillow whilst the other joined his legs in splaying out across the mattress. Of the few remaining perks to sleeping alone, the mixed sensations of fresh vacant linen and the soft enveloping warmth of his own part of the duvet was something Makoto secretly appreciated. Especially on mornings like this, when he didn't have anywhere in particular to be until later on in the day.

After his meeting at Future Fish the day before, Makoto had spent the afternoon getting to grips with his exciting new life as a soon-to-be-published author. Before they'd concluded, Matsuoka-san had slipped a small thin envelope across the polished tabletop that Makoto incidentally no longer found so intimidating, a gleeful smirk across her face as he dubiously accepted her offering. It wasn't much, he'd known it wasn't going to be a lot, that it'd be paid in segments until the book was out and he'd get a further cut from any royalties once expenses were covered. But here it was, his first advance.

Once he got back to his quiet apartment he'd made that long dreamt about phone call to his temp agency, the scenario he'd replayed countless times in his head as he sat at any one of the tedious desk jobs he'd suffered through, inputting numbers into some godawful spreadsheet or typing up letters about bland inconsequential shit he just couldn't make himself care about. The familiar girl on the phone had sounded genuinely happy for him when he explained how he'd be going on a hopefully permanent hiatus from the glamorous world of temporary administrative cover. They knew the score, he'd told them outright when he'd applied that he wasn't planning to be with them for too long, although admittedly the best part of eight months was a little longer than he would've liked. But it'd been steady money after all, and mutually convenient in that he actively preferred taking on short term contracts and could be on call to start a new position with little notice, so he tried his very best not to sound too insanely ecstatic at the prospect of severing ties.

After that was over with he'd made himself a quick celebratory lunch, just some instant ramen and a random packet of fish-shaped sesame crackers he found in the back of the cupboard, because obviously cooking wasn't exactly his forte. But as he sat at his small kitchen table, happily slurping and crunching his way through the satisfyingly odd combination of monotone carbs, his contented green eyes drifted slowly back and forth in contemplation, studying the two pieces of paper in front of him with equal amounts of awe.

The first was his advance cheque, and of course he'd have to take it in to the bank over the next couple of days, but for the moment he couldn't help but treat the little slip of paper with a kind of stunned reverence as if it were some priceless historical document. And in a way that's exactly what it was, to him at least, it was the first tangible evidence that told him this was actually happening.

The second was the single sheet of illustration sample. Matsuoka-san had probably only let him take it away because it'd been fairly obvious he wasn't going to be putting it down anytime soon, and if Makoto hadn't been so instantly bowled over by the delicate composition he would probably have been rather embarrassed at his own irrational conduct. But she'd promised to set up a meeting with the artist as soon as she could, and true to her word Matsuoka-san had sent him an email before he'd even got home, inviting him back to the office to liaise with Nanase-san the very next afternoon.

Nanase Haruka. Makoto shifted to gaze up at the ceiling, lying flat on his back with the twisted sheets retreating lower down his bare chest as he breathed out a sigh. He wondered what she was like, old or young, short or tall, dark or fair, but above all he wondered if they'd share the same connection he felt on paper. He was probably thinking about it a little too much, putting unwarranted pressure on this mystery woman to be the epitome of perfection, he needed to be more professional about this. But still, he couldn't help that ridiculous feeling, like they were two halves of the same mind.

As if to dislodge that very thought Makoto shook his head violently into the pillows, letting out a strangled groan at the days first real exertion of energy. After he'd come to a halt, his hair probably a mess and his long limbs definitely diverging at weird and mildly uncomfortable angles, he lolled his head in the direction of his alarm clock. It was nearly eleven. He tried not to feel too smug about his recent shunning of the regular nine to five.

The meeting wasn't until three, so Makoto took the opportunity to potter around his small but brightly lit apartment whilst the TV chattered inanely in the background, to then indulge in a long steamy shower and afterwards rustle up a rather pathetic excuse for some lunch. By the time he'd finished rinsing the plate and utensils from his meal it was already past one o'clock, and so concluded it was probably about time he got himself dressed and over to Future Fish. For some reason his stomach chose that precise moment to do a weird little flip, but he decided just to put it down to his admittedly terrible cooking.

In truth, Makoto was incredibly nervous about meeting his newly commissioned illustrator, he'd chosen Nanase-san on a pure spur of the moment instinct, and whilst he didn't regret his decision one bit, he didn't really know anything about her. If he'd been more professional he probably should've asked more questions, found out what kind of artwork she'd done before, what kind of working arrangements she preferred. Nonetheless there was just something about Nanase-san's painting, it had captivated him instantly and now nothing else would do. The story he'd written may have seemed inconsequential to some, and indeed it was only a simple children's book, but those images rendered in watercolour and ink and magic, they made it feel important. Made him feel important. He so desperately wanted to meet with the person who'd interpreted his imagination so perfectly, but he couldn't help the small part of him that also happened to find the very prospect of coming face to face with them inexplicably terrifying.

Makoto stared at himself in the long mirror that was fixed to the inside of his wardrobe door, luckily his hair hadn't dried too obnoxiously, although his sandy crop always looked just a little disheveled no matter what he did to it. No, the real problem was what to replace his embarrassingly old sweatpants and stretched out tshirt with. If Hazuki-san was anything to go by he could probably get away with not wearing a suit, which was a good job because he'd already worn the only one he owned to yesterday's meeting. He had an abundance of office appropriate clothing, he just wasn't sure as to what _tone_ he should be aiming for. Makoto shot himself a disparaging look in the mirror, what was he - a girl planning her first date? In the end he chose a dark green shirt, smart looking indigo jeans and an inoffensive blazer-jacket thing. To his irritation he was vaguely aware of having indeed worn that exact combination out on an actual date. Shit.

It was around two o'clock by the time Makoto was in the process of locking his apartment door to leave, and as he fumbled with slipping his keys back into the brown leather satchel that had been a useful moving away present from his parents, trying his very best not to get all tangled up in the excessively long wires of his headphones, he heard from somewhere close behind him a very loud and enthusiastic attempt at a wolf whistle.

"Oh, hey Momo-kun" he greeted his energetic neighbour with a friendly smile.

"You're looking nice Makoto-kun! Isn't it a bit early for a date though?" Shit.

"Um, no..." Makoto began sheepishly "I have a meeting at my... publisher" he noted with satisfaction how nicely that last word rolled off his tongue, this was the first time he was using it so casually in conversation.

"Oh cool, congrats again!" His copper haired junior praised sincerely. "You'll be missing out though..." he chimed in temptation as he fluttered his wide amber toned eyes, but before Makoto could fathom exactly what it was that he'd be missing, he was forced to take an involuntary step backwards as Momo presented him with a disgustingly large and grumpy looking stag beetle, held triumphantly aloft in a transparent plastic trap box. He was a nice guy, really he was, and practically the only neighbour Makoto knew by name, but his weird obsession with large spiky bugs was frankly incomprehensible. The insect captive pincered it's shiny black mandibles together in what Makoto's untrained eye could only assume was some kind of formal greeting, his knees subsequently chose that moment to buckle and with a quiet little squeak he stumbled another step backwards into his reassuringly stable front door.

Momo simply gazed transfixed through the unsettlingly thin plastic walls that made up the beast's stark confinement, evidently already having fallen under its entirely baffling spell.

"Well..." Makoto stammered as he endeavoured to gather his shaken nerves, "I probably should get going," which wasn't really a lie, "I'm already running late as it is" which wasn't strictly true.

"Ok" Momo said absently as he attempted to open his locked apartment door one-handed whist retaining steady eye contact with his charming new insect friend, and for the life of him Makoto couldn't quite make out which one of them his neighbour was addressing.

It was twelve minutes to three by the time the small mirrored elevator floated to a smooth hydraulic stop at the sixth level floor where Future Fish held their offices, and whilst he was still technically early it was definitely a vast improvement on the previous days debacle which had him waiting around for well over a half an hour. The excess time allowed Makoto to take a somewhat leisurely stroll in a meandering diagonal path across the bustling open-plan main office, over towards the corner where he'd most likely find Matsuoka-san and the others engaged in some presumably good natured banter. It was strange, because although he was by no means completely at ease in this new environment, it felt like something had slotted into place in his mind, like he'd suddenly found a renewed purpose or enthusiasm or something. But as he walked with an easy smile creeping onto his lips he instinctively decided it was best not to analyse the welcome phenomenon too deeply, whatever the cause it was working.

Until he neared the corner office, and his conscience helpfully remained him that he was about to meet his... what, kindred spirit? Artistic soulmate? No, his _illustrator_ , the last remaining brain cell on duty supplied. Stay focused Mako.

Makoto's 'team' were situated in the very furthest section from the elevator, their desks arranged inside the boundaries of the long frosted glass partitions that made up the various different departments and which came to a wavy finish at just above eye level. As Makoto approached he could see the top of what looked like Ryuugazaki-san's head, and possibly Hazuki-san's comically flailing arms right next to him. But what he couldn't ascertain was any sign of Nanase Haruka. Was she there already? Had she been waiting for him? Would he see her as he turned the corner of that agonisingly opaque screen wall, like in the ridiculous TV melodramas he occasionally pretended not to watch on a Sunday afternoon? Makoto felt the sudden urge to stop by one of the random desks he seemed to be passing with increasing speed, and to politely ask its inhabitant if he couldn't just temporarily commandeer their garbage bin so he could quickly throw up if they didn't awfully mind.

"Ah, Tachibana-san!" His industrious looking agent called out as she rounded the corner with a perilous tower of paperwork in her arms, unintentionally cutting him off from his destination and effectively blocking his line of sight into the still tantalisingly shielded section. "Don't worry, you're not late," she reassured, obviously taking his agitated haste as a sign of anxiety over his newly apparent timekeeping issues, "I've just cleared the meeting room if you want to follow me..." And she proceeded to lead him past that dramatically obscured department at the corner of the office and on towards the familiar boardroom with the big glass window for a wall. Makoto held his breath as he followed behind, irrationally fixating on Matsuoka-san's flame red ponytail as it swayed in time with her stilettoed steps, his heart rate noticeably quickening as he approached the suspenseful gap between frosted screens. His hopeful green eyes immediately swept the interior vicinity as if he'd been trained by the FBI, looking for - well he didn't exactly know. He was vaguely aware of his jaw seeming to be clamped shut and his fingernails digging into his palms. But all Makoto witnessed as they sailed by too quickly was merely Hazuki-san attempting to balance a large pot of pens on Ryuugazaki-san's head, the taller man sat typing at his desk regardless like it was all in a days work. So, she hadn't arrived yet.

"Hi Mako-chan!" Came Hazuki-san's belated greeting as they entered the boardroom, the sound of toppling stationary following quickly afterwards as Makoto was offered a seat.

"Thanks" he managed, and he couldn't quite work out if what he was feeling was intense relief or crushing disappointment.

"Black, two sugars right?" Matsuoka-san questioned cheerfully, quite obviously unaware of the mild panic attack her client had just experienced whilst walking across the office.

"Hm? Ah, yeah... Yes please" he replied still partially dazed, and then was thankfully left alone to his own devices whilst she sorted out the coffee. Makoto sat in the same tall leather-clad chair as the previous day, idly staring out across the skyline as he tried to make sense of his own conflicting thoughts. He probably just needed to get a grip, this was business after all, this was what he'd been working for.

"... is just through here... " came Matsuoka-san's voice, and it took Makoto a couple of seconds to realise that she wasn't actually talking to him. Unfortunately, due to his recently new found zeal for industry, Makoto had already put the stylish swivel chair into motion and so with split second timing arrived facing the doorway like a mild mannered Bond villain just in time for "...Haruka-kun"

Holy. Shit.

Makoto was definitely not expecting that. Standing next to his agent was apparently Haruka- _kun_ , apparently his newly commissioned illustrator. Apparently the person responsible for the multitude of skipped heartbeats Makoto had experienced in the last twenty four hours.

He was perhaps not as tall as Makoto, but he definitely had presence enough to make up for it, with his large sapphire eyes burning brightly from beneath his tapered black fringe and accented perfectly with his delicately pale complexion. Add that to the black skinny jeans and the various layers of baggy tshirts put together with effortless style and of course he was a sight to behold, in fact he was so striking Makoto realised he must've been staring for a little too long, probably with his jaw hanging open. He couldn't help it.

"Um, Tachibana-san," his agent finally interrupted the slightly awkward silence, "this is the illustrator you'll be working with, Nanase-"

"Haru," said the blue eyed man, "just Haru is fine" and he looked off to the side in a way that should've seemed dismissive, but for some reason Makoto found it endearing and couldn't help but smile a little.

"Ok," Matsuoka-san sounded a little relieved "well take a seat and I'll go get you that coffee - and, a green tea?"Haru nodded. A silence descended as they sat at the ridiculously oversized boardroom table, but again Makoto didn't feel particularly uncomfortable.

"So, I'm going to be honest," Makoto began sheepishly "when I first read your name, I thought you were a woman." At that a subtle scowl descended onto Haru's previously composed expression, and for moment Makoto thought maybe he shouldn't have said anything after all, but then the tiniest of smirks tugged at his lips and a flash of something electric glimmered in his too blue eyes. "Oh my god!" Makoto exclaimed with a giant grin, "you thought the same about me didn't you?!" And after a blink of what appeared to be shock at having been deciphered so easily, Haru gave Makoto a curious look and then confirmed his delighted suspicions with a little breathy laugh of his own.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's AU! Hope you enjoy...

 

 

 

Makoto rolled a stubby paper tube of granulated brown sugar between his finger and thumb as he waited at the stainless steel counter of the busy coffee shop. The customer in front had ordered one of those complicated macchiato-latte things with syrups and sprinkles, the type that should be served with a sundae spoon instead of just a paper cup. Makoto tried not to feel too superior when he ordered his plain, definitely manly black coffee - even if he was about to tip several large helpings of sweet crystalline sugar down into its murky depths.

His meeting with Haru had been cut short the previous day, the emphatically male artist having been called in at short notice to cover a shift at his other job. And if Makoto found himself desperately wanting to know what that other mystery job might be, to need as much information as he could get his hands on to try and piece together the beguiling puzzle that was Nanase Haruka, it was just natural curiosity. It wasn't that weird. But there was definitely a connection between them, and somehow Makoto felt oddly relieved. Because ok, it would be fair to say that he'd been shocked when he'd first set eyes on Haru, that all his preconceptions had been completely blown out of the water. But they had both quickly relaxed into each others company, and soon enough Makoto felt they shared a bond that seemed deeper than their forty minute meeting should've allowed.

Consequently and rather embarrassingly Makoto had been visibly disappointed when Haru stood up to leave, maybe even letting a quiet little whine slip from his throat as his eyes were pulled like magnets to Haru's face, and so the shorter guy had huffed in amusement and lent down over the table to draw him a map to his studio. The slew of sensations had been a little too much for Makoto; the too close proximity as Haru leaned casually by his side, the breeze of deep musky scent that he hadn't previously picked up on, the tangible heat emitting from the graceful body next to him and in turn causing his own cheeks to grow irrationally warm. But then Makoto had forced himself to pay attention to what Haru was writing, and wow but he could've watched him all day. Haru had borrowed Matsuoka-san's fountain pen and torn a page from the back of his own sketch book, and he was drawing him the most beautiful directions Makoto had ever seen. His delicate hand was sweeping long relaxed intersections and curving pathways, black inky lines tapering off at the edges and the confident cross hatched shading providing slightly more detail than was strictly necessary. It was simple and functional, but still Makoto knew it would probably end up on his fridge. Haru's writing was as neat as the first time he'd seen it on the sample illustration, but this time he was labelling up the relevant streets and buildings instead of signing his own effeminate name. The coffee shop Makoto was currently standing in was flagged as a nearby landmark, along with a fishmonger for some reason.

Whilst waiting he scanned around absently at his fellow caffeine addicts. The place had a distinctly bohemian atmosphere, it's incredibly artsy regulars draping themselves over the purposefully mismatched furniture whilst seeming to have impassioned and serious debate, their conversations held over the murmur of the inevitably French jazz that burbled softly from the antique of a stereo in the corner. Needless to say, Makoto had never been there before in his life. Sure, he was a (nearly) published author, but this aggressively folksy nonconformist social scene had him feeling absurdly out of his comfort zone. Perhaps it was the fact that he just so happened to be nearer to thirty than most of the clientele, but possibly his scruffy jeans and old David Bowie tshirt weren't helping much either.

Or were they? Because actually if he wasn't very much mistaken, the pretty young girl sliding his drink across the counter was currently giving him the eye. Despite himself, Makoto couldn't help but feel a little bit flattered, and it was kind of nice to know he still had it. She was probably a little _too_ young; in that way which was imperceptible most of the time, but became jarringly apparent when a couple talked about their childhoods and obscure pop culture references. But still it was nice, and she reminded Makoto a little of a girl he'd dated in high school. 

However, as suddenly as if a bell had sounded, her sultry brown eyes shifted and shot wide open with something akin to excitement - the quick change around so comical that it took a couple of seconds for Makoto to register that a bell had indeed been ringing, jangling loudly as the shop door was opened and closed just a few feet behind him. He couldn't help it, he was curious to know who'd elicited such a dramatic reaction from the girl who only moments before had been playing it rather cool, but when he turned to cast a subtle glance behind him Makoto found that he just so happened to echo her elated sentiments entirely.

"Haru-kun!" The girl enthused, and the dark haired artist directed a curt nod in the gushing barista's direction before levelling his dazzlingly blue gaze to meet with startled green.

"Hey Makoto." Haru greeted casually, before unwinding the tasseled cotton scarf from around his neck and stepping forward to stand with Makoto at the counter. Technically this was only their second time meeting, but for some unknown reason being with Haru already felt entirely natural, like they hung out together all the time. This air of familiarity didn't however stop Makoto from studying his new acquaintance like it'd be his last chance to do so, and he noticed again how effortlessly stylish Haru appeared with his dark skinny jeans and oversized navy sweater, his charcoal grey scarf now hanging loose and redundant in the cosy warmth of the cafe.

"Uh, hey Haru! I was just on my way to see you," obviously "can I get you a drink - green tea wasn't it?" And a genuine smile broke across Makoto's face at the flicker of surprise his artist friend was now trying very hard not to display, following up with a laugh at the way Haru turned his head to the side without actually correcting him.

Makoto was in fact still chuckling when he turned back round to add Haru's tea to his order, but his smile was instantly melted away when he was confronted by a pair of stern brown eyes, eyes that had been so very coy only minutes before.

"Um, a green tea as well please..." He said with no small amount of confusion. Why did he get the feeling he was suddenly being treated as an enemy, like competition? Because well that was just silly. The girl behind the counter gave Makoto one last appraising look before completely ignoring him in favour of trying her hand at chatting with Haru, and if she'd been flirting before what she was doing now could only be described as worship.

"So Haru-kun," the girl cooed rather overbearingly "what's going on at your place? You know we'd all love to see something new from you..." And she batted her dark lashes for added emphasis.

"There's an exhibition in a couple of weeks," Haru replied with total disinterest, and Makoto wasn't quite sure why the fact that Haru was treating her so coldly made him happy "as for me..." He continued a little quieter, his eyes falling to stare intently at his hands as if he'd forgotten where he was.

"I know, I know." The girl sighed with the affectionate exasperation of a long suffering wife, and yeah there was definitely something about her that pissed Makoto off. "That's ¥750 please" she held her hand out to Makoto but predictably kept her doting eyes fixed on Haru. He wasn't petty, but she definitely wasn't getting a tip.

"So this place is nice, you must come here a lot" Makoto made needless small talk as Haru gathered their drinks and he busied himself by holding open the door.

"It's just close" Haru dismissed with a shrug as he handed Makoto his coffee and walked out onto the street, and yes It was a little mean, but Makoto couldn't help the small wave of satisfaction at the sound of something being dropped coming from the direction of the counter.

They walked side by side through the surrounding neighbourhood, the lively streets lined with the same fashionable types that frequented the little coffee shop, the epitome of nonchalance as they windowshopped or stood gesticulating through important conversations. They were definitely in some kind of creative quarter, the little independent looking shops having quirky avant-garde style displays and there seemed to be a lot of very interesting people milling around with various instruments in battered old cases. Makoto continued to feel entirely out of place.

As they walked a statistically high proportion of pedestrians and shopkeepers stopped what they were doing to call out their enthusiastic greetings to Haru as they passed by, and slowly it dawned on Makoto that he was apparently walking alongside somewhat of a local celebrity. For his part Haru would nod politely or mumble one word answers in response, but each time and almost certainly without realising he was doing it, he seemed to gravitate closer towards Makoto, as if he was attempting to use the taller guy as a human shield against the intrusive world around them. Makoto couldn't help but smile a little, Haru was clearly not what you would call a 'people person', and he felt a ridiculous sense of privilege at apparently being an exception to the rule. Instinctively Makoto began chattering aloud about anything and nothing, and from the corner of his eye he could see Haru gradually relaxing his anxiously tensed posture at the welcome distraction of his voice.

Before too long they were climbing a short flight of scruffily paved steps outside of a tall narrow building, and when they got closer to the door Makoto's eyes were drawn towards a large colourful plaque on the otherwise drab concrete wall to the left of the dingy looking entranceway. It was mostly made up of small blue mosaic tiles, the kind that were more commonly used in swimming pools, but interspersed amongst the different shades of blue were small shards of mirrored glass and various pieces of coloured ceramics and porcelain. It was actually quite difficult to read, and Makoto had to stop to refocus his vision as if looking into one of those Magic Eye pictures that used to be all the rage when he was a kid.

"It says 'Studio Free and Art Space'," Haru smirked from the doorway "don't worry, I couldn't read it when I first got here either" and with a simple tilt of his head he beckoned Makoto to follow him into the building.

In contrast to the outside the interior seemed fairly well maintained, bright halogen lights reflecting off fresh whitewashed walls, pale polished wood flooring that squeaked a little under Makoto's scruffy old pair of Vans. It smelt of wet paint and varnish, sawdust and cigarettes. Haru led him through the large open space and Makoto noticed that there were several paintings on different sized canvases all propped up against the walls, he had a quick glance around but couldn't see anything that he thought resembled Haru's unique style of work. And suddenly Makoto remembered back to the coffee shop, when Haru mentioned something about an exhibition to the annoying girl with the stupid eyelashes, and the awkward reply he'd given when asked about his own work.

But there wasn't much time for Makoto to dwell on what it all meant, because before he knew it Haru was pulling open the rickety looking cage door of the ancient freight elevator in the far corner of the room, and the entirety of his brain capacity was then taken up by forcing his feet to go forward instead of simply running hurriedly back in the direction he came in. Haru had obviously clocked the decidedly queazy shade of green that descended over Makoto's face, because with only a slight roll of his sapphire eyes he stepped onto the elevator platform to show him that it was indeed a sturdy piece of machinery, the vision of Haru now fully inside the death trap only succeeding in sending a panicky sickness directly to Makoto's gut.

"It's perfectly safe," Haru said in a reassuring tone that soothed at the edges of Makoto's nerves, 'it's been here since this place was built" he continued, but his logic only seemed to reverse some of his previous good work.

"I don't know Haru" Makoto all but whined, forcing his feet to shuffle forward nonetheless. But then into his field of vision came Haru's outstretched hand, and as Makoto hesitantly took it in his own he may as well have been stepping out onto a highwire for all the notice he payed to his surroundings. He barely registered the jarring metallic screech of the cage door being pulled shut behind him, or even the way Haru had to manoeuvre the old fashioned crank handle with just his spare hand in order to set the carriage in motion. Instead Makoto stared down at where his fingers brushed over Haru's soft milky skin, the only information that seemed to reach his hazy consciousness was the mysterious heat that seemed to be working its way up the length of his arm and just how perfectly Haru's smaller hand was cradled in his own.

"Third floor." Haru said calmly, and all of a sudden Makoto was being led out onto a landing and his hand gently slipped away from Haru's as they walked along the short corridor, down towards two closed doors that stood opposite each other with a small porthole window between them. Haru searched through his pockets to look for his keys and when eventually he found them began opening the white painted door on the right hand side, gently kicking the door frame a few times as it stuck slightly when he twisted the handle. Makoto had completely missed the entire ritual however, as he stood behind Haru staring down at his own still tingling fingers, his cheekbones starting to heat as he realised how embarrassingly scared he'd been and how flustered he'd become just from holding Haru's hand. He wondered where exactly he'd left his professionalism. "So this is my studio" Haru said a little self consciously as he walked inside, and thankfully Makoto managed to pull himself together in enough time to follow him into the room and avoid drawing too much attention to his still stupidly blushing face.

"H-haru, it's wonderful!" Makoto praised openly, his previous awkwardness completely forgotten as his wide green eyes took in his surroundings. The room was surprisingly spacious, noticeably neat and uncluttered, and with a large sash window that let the bright sunlight stream in. There were several large easels set at different angles around the space, most remaining empty but one or two were being used to hold a canvas. Against the longest wall was a small desk with a floor standing lamp and a set of shelves that seemed to house bookmarked reference materials and quite a few sketch pads that looked like they were full to bursting. In the corner next to the desk was a battered old two seater sofa with a paint splattered coffee table stationed in front, and an old wooden chair held a solitary watch beneath the window. Makoto felt instantly at ease, and in the back of his mind he wondered when he'd become the kind of person who recognised and appreciated the scent of another man.

"Well it's crappy, but thanks" Haru monotoned and he smiled one of his almost smiles as he watched Makoto wonder around his studio, looking at his possessions like he was touring a particularly sparse museum.

"Can I?" Makoto asked respectfully as he neared one of the easels holding a canvas, it's surface angled towards the wall and therefore obscuring its contents from his current position. Haru nodded his silent permission from where he stood, 'sure, go ahead', and he watched the taller guy's expression intently as he rounded on the painting.

Makoto's eyes danced across the composition, attempting to take in every single detail all at once, and it was absolutely breathtaking. Depicted on the large rectangular canvas was the starry night sky and a dark tumultuous sea beneath it, it's stormy waves in raging peaks and troughs as it reflected a rainbow of colours like an oil slick in the moonlight. It was dark and brooding, shocking and completely entrancing. He hadn't expected the colours to be so solid and defined, rendered in oil paint - or was it acrylic, Makoto didn't really know, but it definitely had a different feel to the watercolour and ink Haru had used so delicately on the illustration. The work Makoto had seen before had been soft and ethereal, this piece was nothing like that, it was strong and frantic, almost raw. Suddenly Makoto felt a pang of guilt flash through him, like he shouldn't really be looking, like he was intruding on something private and possibly even painful.

"It's fine" Haru said from right beside him, making Makoto jump and then laugh reflexively. "It's not even finished, I was in a weird place," he said flippantly in explanation "so no need to look so sad" and he shot Makoto a knowing smile that shimmered right up into his sparkling eyes. Makoto chucked as he rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly, following Haru out across the room where he stopped to look out of the window, peering down at the still busy street below.

"You seem quite well known around here," Makoto observed as he plonked himself down on the couch, belatedly realising he hadn't actually asked and it was probably quite presumptuous, but then relaxed again as Haru took a seat on the wooden chair without seeming to notice his apparent lack of manners. "It must be great to already be that successful as an artist".

"Hm" Haru said rather noncommittally as he looked out the window, and Makoto sensed there was probably a lot more to it than that. "What about you?" Haru deflected, successfully changing the subject completely "what made you want to be a children's author? Do you have any kids?"

"Ah no," Makoto laughed a little awkwardly for some reason, "perhaps one day, but no I have two younger siblings, and well I suppose it all started when I used to make up little stories for them." And god, but that sounded lame even to him, and right after setting eyes on Haru's (unfinished) masterpiece too.

"I liked it," Haru said softly "your story, when I read it I-"

"Yo Nanase!" Came a loud call from somewhere outside the room, "Haru, you in?" the voice asked again, and Haru audibly sighed. Seconds later a redheaded guy in a sleeveless tshirt and pair of baggy track pants came sauntering through the door and over to where Haru was sitting silently by the window, "I need you to give me a hand with something... If you know what I mean" and he cocked his eyebrow suggestively before breaking out in a large toothy grin and ruffling Haru's hair a little too hard. "Oh hey," was his relaxed greeting directed at a slightly confused Makoto. "You didn't tell me you had friends Haru" and then he was back to teasing the other.

"What do you need Rin?" Haru replied flatly.

"I'm Rin by the way" and he extended a hand down to Makoto, 'Haru's kinda socially awkward so he doesn't know how to introduce people"

"I'm Makoto" he smiled back nervously, and he could see Rin quickly thinking through all the people he knew to try and place him.

"The writer" Haru assisted.

"Oh, cool yeah, the writer," Rin smirked "so it's business then, I knew you didn't actually have any friends." And suddenly Makoto felt a little defensive, and he didn't exactly know why.

"Rin has the studio across from mine," Haru supplied "he's a sculptor, or more accurately he knocks ten bells of shit out of stuff."

"Hey!" Rin began to object "oh yeah, but that reminds me I need your help with something... I sourced some new wood, but I need a hand getting it up" and he shot a suggestive wink at Haru, who in return simply rolled his eyes as he got up to follow the redhead out across the corridor, beckoning apologetically for Makoto to join him.

Haru was already halfway through the door to Rin's studio when he caught up with him, and so there wasn't nearly enough time for Makoto to prepare himself for the sight that greeted his unsuspecting eyes when he followed after him into the room. Because hanging on the walls and from ceiling, standing on shelves and on the floor, were several eerie variations of the spooky dragon-monster-type-thing that had so effectively given him the creeps back in the boardroom at Future Fish, and the mere sight of the one that was only half finished as it emerged from a block of wood was enough to give Makoto massively vivid nightmares for weeks.

"F-future Fish" Makoto murmured as he grasped hold of the back of Haru's oversized sweater.

"Ah, so you've seen my work before!" Rin cheered obliviously as he attempted to shift an enormous stump of tree.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to leave it so long. I got kind of distracted by various things and then I found it difficult to get back in to writing - even though I couldn't stop thinking about it! So apologies for that, and also because this chapter is a bit on the short side, but I needed something to get the ball rolling again...

 

 

 

Haru's desk was constructed out of a dark kind of timber, something warm like rosewood or a rich mahogany. But what had once probably been quite a grand looking piece of furniture had now gently mellowed into something more friendly and approachable, the layers of varnish having long since worn down, only lingering like receding shadows in the corners of joints or the insides of drawers. The tabletop was obviously the most eroded, with a lighter patch in the centre where the desk had seen more action, but it was clear the broad surface had been scrubbed down on numerous occasions as the grain stood proud and slightly rough through the various patches of once spilled ink and turpentine. There were many shallow scores in different angles and strata like soft veteran scars across its face or the ghosts of long completed compositions, there were little knicks missing out of its edges and one of the three drawers that stacked down the lefthand side seemed to be awkwardly misaligned on its runners. It was like a favourite pair of comfortably worn-in shoes, and Makoto felt instantly at home.

"Where d'you get this desk?" Makoto slurred slightly, his left cheek and temple pressed flush against the cool wood, his extra-long arm span flopped over its surface in a half hug - half collapse. "I need one".

"Hm," Haru exhaled his amusement "you could have it, but then where would I keep my pens?"

He'd spent the best part of the last week or so hauled up in Haru's tranquil studio, now fully at ease relaxing on the old threadbare couch or peering absently out of the large sash window like it was simply an extension of his own apartment. It had transpired that Haru was particularly easygoing with his space and generous with his possessions, even his time was freely given over for Makoto to monopolise without a single qualm or hesitation. It'd been Matsuoka-san's idea, that instead of trying to sporadically schedule formal meetings over at the main office it would perhaps make more sense for them to meet up independently, in an environment more conducive to creativity and not so far across town. Makoto had caught a hint of what may've been a quick conspiratorial glance between Matsuoka-san and her colleagues, but he'd decided to ignore it in favour of subtly trying to gauge Haru's reaction to the admittedly intriguing suggestion. In response the artist had simply and rather predictably nodded his approval, extending his invitation for Makoto to come by whenever he liked. The author couldn't have kept the delight from his face if he'd tried.

True to form he'd felt a little awkward to begin with, attempting in vain to keep his notoriously clumsy tendencies in check as he tried not to get in the way, his infuriatingly decent upbringing forcing him to ask each time he needed to borrow a pencil or switch on the lamp. By the end of the second day Haru had told him outright that he really didn't care and he should treat the place like his own, his unique brand of abrupt but gentle reasoning causing Makoto to smile and quietly chuckle his acquiescence under his breath. Nonetheless he'd still persisted in asking if it was okay if he came back the next day, but after repeatedly being on the receiving end of Haru's resultant admonishing gaze, even that pretence had been disposed of after only a couple more visits.

To begin with they'd talked at length about the story, discussing which were the most important characters and the different locations within the narrative. At that point Haru had still only read the incomplete section he'd been sent in the partial, which in Makoto's opinion only made his visual interpretations all the more extraordinary. In addition, Ryuugazaki-san had already come back with a few corrections and suggested pacing adjustments so it'd been useful for them both to go over the manuscript in more detail.

In the past, when Makoto had practiced his sales pitch over an intimate breakfast with an imaginary publisher, he'd often found himself physically wincing at just how emotionally invested he'd become in the lives of his own fictional creations. They'd been borne from the many idyllic days spent entertaining his siblings, and though he was fiercely proud of what he'd produced, he was still acutely aware that it was fairly irrational to feel so protective over the made up characters of a simple children's novel. But for some reason, he got the feeling that Haru understood, and he didn't feel at all embarrassed by being able to explain the protagonist's back story without once referring to his notes.

After the initial concepts had been discussed Haru had set up a tall, spindly looking easel with a large white canvas board and had begun to sketch out his ideas with a soft blunted pencil. Makoto alternated between sitting hunched at Haru's vacant desk for intensive rewrites and note taking, and lying flat out on the adjacent coach where he read his revisions aloud and pondered his various plot points.

It was a revelation, working alongside someone else and talking each decision through. Because although Haru's pleasantly dilapidated desk was most definitely his favoured position, somehow effectively grounding him and helping him to concentrate on the task at hand when he needed it, reading his story to Haru as he quietly sketched was so relaxing and enjoyable that it seemed to spur on his own creative imagination and therefore left his mind open to concoct other random ideas apparently out of nowhere. He'd already begun jotting down several concepts for other stories in the back pages of his notebook.

Another unexpected bonus of his sessions sprawled out on the coach was that it provided a perfect vantage point for Makoto to sneakily study Haru as he worked. The giraffe-like easel was set up at a right angle to the window, the large canvas board slanted just a little to catch the light, and Makoto found his eyes routinely drawn from the page in his hand to watch Haru surreptitiously from behind as he performed his mysterious acts of alchemy by turning words into perfect pictures.

"Tell me about the scene on the cliff top" Haru might say, and Makoto would begin to describe the surrounding view and the fresh salt air that blustered up from the sea below, much in the same way he used to elaborate for the twins when they weren't quite ready to fall asleep during their bedtime stories all those years ago. Often this reminded him of something the twins had said or done, and he ended up waffling on about something entirely unrelated, like their family camping trips or the troop of stray cats that lived around the neighbourhood. Haru didn't seem to mind.

Makoto talked a lot, so much so that it almost felt like therapy, his head cradled on his arms as he lay back on the couch. Haru would supply his opinion here and there, but mostly it was Makoto's contented voice that accompanied the gentle scratch and scrawl of graphite. They talked briefly about Makoto's stint as an office temp, he discovered that Haru had a part time job in an art supply shop, and Makoto found it strangely incongruous that very occasionally he covered Rin's shifts at the Aussie bar where he worked just around the corner. They touched on the usual things such as books and movies - neither of them being particularly current in their preferences, and Makoto learned that Haru liked to cook and that they shared an interest in swimming.

Mostly though, it was Makoto's rambling tales of family life that seemed to amuse Haru the most. The Tachibana's had been extremely fortunate in that they'd never really experienced any great life changing dramas or dangerous incidents, but the usual antics of a busy young household made for entertaining enough anecdotes nonetheless. Hell, most of Makoto's writing was a thinly veiled autobiography. Interestingly it turned out that Haru had grown up an only child, and the stories involving Ren and Ran seemed to make him laugh the best, especially when it was at Makoto's expense. Haru would definitely get on well with his siblings.

"You were brought up by the sea?" Haru asked, but it seemed more of a speculative statement than a simple straight forward question. The interruption to their comfortable silence brought Makoto back into the stillness of the room, his runaway train of thought helpfully derailing before it meandered too far off course. He definitely needed a break, even if he had just been caught out daydreaming, so he picked up his notes and slunk over to the slightly lumpy coach.

"Yeah," Makoto sighed wistfully as he lay the open pages of his notebook flat across his chest, "a little port town called Iwatobi, there's not much there so you probably wouldn't know it, but really it was a good place to grow up - quiet, friendly."

"Iwatobi... Hm, I think maybe my train used to pass by at the little station there." Haru stated blandly as if it wasn't actually a massively big deal. Makoto sat up on his elbow, dislodging his notes so they slid unobstructed off the couch, staring with wonder as the artist continued his work oblivious to the fizz of sudden excitement he'd planted within Makoto's chest. He'd been in Tokyo for almost a year and never once met anyone who'd even heard of his tiny home town, let alone passed through it, even fleetingly. And this wasn't just anyone after all, this was Haru.

"What... Really!?" Makoto beamed, his enthusiasm causing Haru to glance over his shoulder as he sketched, his piqued expression betraying his curiosity as to why that incidental piece of information might be so incredibly enthralling. "No, it's just..." Makoto chuckled at his own over excitement and Haru's eyes slipped back to the canvas, to where his skilled alabaster hand was still at work on a little monochrome coastal scene of his own. "No one's ever heard of Iwatobi, it's just nice," and before he could stop himself "and I like that it's you..." He regretted it instantly, his breath silently catching and his lips clamping shut as if it wasn't already too late.

"It looked pretty" Haru said softly, the tips of his ears a little pink, and it was all Makoto could do to stop himself from inviting him to stay, to come meet his parents and show him the sights.

"Wait, so you're not from Tokyo?" Makoto deducted, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten as he latched onto this newly gleaned information like a curios kitten on a stray line of thread.

It only lasted a fraction of a second, but Makoto's brow furrowed as he registered the unmistakable flinch when Haru's jaw set tight and his subtly clenched hand momentarily faltered with the stubby little pencil mid stroke on the canvas. His question was met with a heavy silence, one that he instinctively knew needed none of his usual chatter or filler, and he was just about to apologise for intruding when Haru finally flicked him another quick glance over his shoulder. He hadn't looked particularly angry or offended as Makoto had feared, instead it was almost as if he'd been lost in his thoughts and was gauging whether Makoto had already lost interest or if he should still continue on to provide an answer.

"Iwami," Haru said quietly as he resumed his work, "in Tottori Prefecture. It's probably a couple of hours up the coast from your town."

"Huh" Makoto murmured absently, he thought maybe he'd seen it on a map at some point.

"I... moved to Tokyo when I was seventeen. My parents disowned me, when they found out I was gay." He delivered the last part with complete detachment, as if he were merely recounting a recipe for miso soup or directions to the nearest post office, but his calm tone did little to belie the twist of emotion his words sent clawing through Makoto's gut.

"Haru..." The author sat up fully on the couch, finally picking up his neglected notes to lay them closed on the seat beside him, his eyes never leaving the back of Haru's head as he struggled to form the right words. A strange cocktail of feelings converged in his chest; anger and sadness, regret and impotence.

"We never really got on," Haru dismissed in a clear attempt to make light of his revelation, he didn't seem uncomfortable but it was obvious he wasn't that used to talking about it. "I like Tokyo" he added and smiled at Makoto as if he were the one that needed consoling. Makoto tried to return his gesture, but he couldn't quite pull it off. It just wasn't fair.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm sorry. I'll do better next time - stuff will actually happen in the next one. X


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while chapter 4 was kind of short, I had to cut this one down because it was getting too long. But hopefully that means I can post quicker next time. Hopefully.

 

 

 

Makoto sat idly chasing the last few wilting flakes of cereal around the edge of the bowl with his spoon, the TV blathering on in the background, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd long stopped paying attention to its incessant demands. It was the first day in over a week that he didn't have plans with Haru, apparently it was delivery day at his part-time job, and although his hours did seem to be fairly relaxed he presumably still needed to pay the bills like anyone else. Makoto felt a little twinge of guilt at the realisation that he’d probably rearranged his schedule for him, because whilst it was true that Haru would eventually be paid for his input once the book was finished, he wasn't entitled to the same financial benefits and advance cheques as an author was. It hadn't even crossed his mind.

So there he sat, violently tussled hair and still only dressed in a pair of novelty cat themed boxer shorts whilst he picked at the last remaining dregs of his food supply for breakfast, even though it was in fact now rapidly approaching a weekday lunchtime for real working people. He felt strangely lost. It was almost as if he already missed Haru, like he needed the artist to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Makoto's mind snagged on their conversation from the previous day; that same kaleidoscope of emotions setting in just as vividly as before. It was mostly still anger, because it just wasn't right for a parent to treat their child so heartlessly, and he simply couldn't imagine what it must've been like not to receive the boundless unconditional love and support of his own family. The way that it should be.

He also felt a pang of sadness slide through his chest as he imagined a seventeen year old Haru, confused and alone, having to leave the place where he grew up because of the outdated prejudices of those around him, those closest to him. He wished he could’ve met that boy living only a few hours away from himself, to have been there if he needed him and to tell him that things would all work out.

He hadn't voiced any of this at the time of course, he'd not really known what to say. Because while Makoto hadn't lived such a completely sheltered life that he wasn't aware of different lifestyles and sexual orientations, he didn't exactly have that much experience in the matter either. Iwatobi was probably a lot like Haru's little town, things like that weren't really discussed and people kept themselves to themselves, he didn't think it was overtly homophobic or anything but he could see how someone in Haru's position might find it rather isolating. Their experiences of small town life were probably quite a bit different, and that fact alone was just so undeniably sad. Haru hadn't been looking for any sympathy, quite the opposite in fact, and he really did seem more content to be living in Tokyo. But that hadn't stopped Makoto from wanting to gather the artist up in a hug, to try and soothe away any last small kernel of pain. He hadn't of course.

And maybe it was because there was a part of Makoto, a deep dark part, that had actually been kind of pleased when Haru had told him. He wasn't pleased that Haru had suffered obviously, but he did quite like that he'd opened up to him and voluntarily shared something so intensely personal. He felt like he was slowly being drawn closer into Haru's world, and he wasn't entirely certain why he found that idea so incredibly exciting.

He didn't really feel like doing any work, his apartment no longer felt like a good place to write and besides he didn't have Haru there to talk to. He should probably start with getting dressed, then maybe go out to finally buy some groceries or do some of the touristy things that he'd never had time to do when he was temping. It seemed a reasonably decent day outside, the overbearing summer heat having abated several weeks ago and the chill transition into autumn was still held at bay by the low September sun. Maybe it would be nice just to go for a walk.

After washing the dishes and then himself, Makoto padded his way to his disorderly bedroom, where the bed remained resolutely unmade and the curtains were kept permanently drawn in an attempt to block out the constant rumble of the city and the many overlooking windows of his densely packed neighbours. He found his favourite pair of baggy jeans and slipped them on, they were a bit on the scruffy side, the blue of the denim rather faded and the bottom of the heels were a little ragged and permanently scrunched where he'd walked on them. He pulled open the second drawer of his cabinet and selected a tshirt from his too large collection. Tshirts were one of Makoto's guilty pleasures and he'd amassed quite a few over the years, even though he'd been mostly dressing in conservative office wear as of late. Today's was one of his favourites, it was black with 'the clash' written in stylised red lettering and underneath was a crackled black and white picture of the band. He slid a red plaid shirt from its hanger and layered it over the top and then catching his reflection in the mirror on his wardrobe door made a halfhearted attempt at addressing his messy brown hair.

It was indeed quite a nice day outside and Makoto found the urge to wander, because whilst he knew the quickest way to the station and which lines to catch to get him to the various business districts, he still wasn't quite so familiar with his own neighbourhood despite having lived there for the best part of a year. He started off in the opposite direction to the subway, his mind drifting further away with each intrepid step from his apartment.

He strolled through the surrounding narrow backstreets, taking the time to notice the stacks of bicycles moored at each corner and the little baskets of umbrellas on the doorsteps of shops and izakaya. After a while he passed through a local shrine and paused for a few minutes to pay his respects, washing his hands and mouth at the basin, and after ringing the bell made his offering at the rickety looking haiden. It was kind of nostalgic, reminding him of the little Shinto shrine just up the hill from his house in Iwatobi.

Soon enough Makoto came to a busy main road that was packed with little cars and square shaped vans, but on a whim he decided just to cross it and delve back into the smaller streets beyond, they were much more relaxing to amble through than to negotiate pedestrian filled pavements and hindersome crossings of the bustling main thoroughfare. He smiled and greeted random people as he walked, and although it was still quite noisy, he pictured the various neighbourhoods as little individual towns within the vastness of the city.

After an hour or so of aimless meandering, of both his feet and his mind, Makoto arrived at the entranceway to a municipal park and upon exploring further he could see that it actually covered quite a large area for city normally so obsessed with efficiency and ergonomics. There had been woods and parks where he'd grown up, but the lack of open space in Tokyo didn't bother him too much, most of the industry back home was concentrated on the harbour so it wasn't as if he was used to great swathes of open fields to begin with. He did miss the sea though.

Inside the park was a large rectangular pond with fountains and seats built into the stone that surrounded it, there were so many trees, most of which were Sakura and would no doubt look amazing in the springtime. Makoto left the main path and decided he'd walk beneath the boughs, the spiky grass making a satisfyingly crunchy sound under his feet. It was surprisingly beautiful, like an oasis encircled by concrete and skyscrapers, and he idly wondered what it might look like if Haru decided to paint it.

Just then, as if in castigation for his utter lameness, a tree attempted to assault him with one of its branches as it fell to the ground mere inches from his head, and he had to stumble backwards so as not to get caught up within its twiggy tendrils as it gambolled to a stop on the ground.

"Oh hey, it's the writer guy," said the tree "you're not supposed to be walking on the grass" it admonished rather sternly.

"Um... Sorry?" Makoto apologised to the surprisingly talkative mass of leaves.

"Nah, I'm just messing with you" and from between its densely foliated branches came a large shiny chainsaw, winching down on a flaxen rope and eventually setting gently on the ground. Now it was true that Makoto was in possession of a somewhat over active imagination, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why a tree would throw an unprovoked projectile and then present him with a chainsaw. Perhaps trespassing over the grass was taken particularly seriously in this neighbourhood. But then moments later on the opposite side of the considerable trunk, a familiar looking redhead jumped down and into a roll, coming to a stop in a crouched position and then stood up to brush the debris from his scruffy paint splattered overalls.

"Tree branch or chainsaw?" The guy asked casually, as if it were a sensible question.

"Ah," Makoto considered his options, and came to the conclusion he had no idea. "What?"

"You're Haru's writer guy aren't you? Do you want to carry the tree branch or the chainsaw?" It took several seconds for Makoto to get over being called ' _Haru's writer guy_ ' and he tried to ignore how giddy the innocuous description made him feel, keenly aware of the set of crimson eyes eagerly awaiting his apparently important reply. Quickly he scanned the two objects under discussion, the branch looked a little unwieldy but the menacing angles of the red and chrome chainsaw were definitely kind of scary.

"Tree branch" he said with a slight nod, the redheaded guy beamed a wide toothy grin and then set about untying the length of rope that was still knotted to the handle of the intimidating implement. Makoto was reminded of the saying about pets looking like their owners, the full sweep of serrated metallic fangs and bombastic scarlet paintwork really seemed to suit this guy... Rin. He was glad he'd remembered his name before things had started getting awkward.

As they walked - Makoto with the large piece of tree slung over his shoulder and Rin with the saw blade nearly dragging on the ground as he carried it in one hand, the spool of rope in his other, Makoto couldn't help but occasionally try to sneak in little furtive sidelong glances. There was something he needed to get off his chest, he had to clear the air.

"Rin?" He started somewhat hesitantly, and the redhead merely raised a questioning eyebrow. "Rin... Um... I'm sorry. For how I acted. That day in your studio, when I freaked out... at all the dragons." The residual embarrassment spiked across Makoto's face, his eyes dropping down to the branch in his grasp as he silently studied the intricate cracks and dapples of powdery lichen on the surface of the bark.

"Haa!" Rin erupted, "no worries mate!" And he barged a playful shoulder into Makoto's unsuspecting frame with a surprising force which caused him to nearly drop his cargo, Makoto looked a little dubious but returned his good natured smile nonetheless. "No, seriously it's fine," he reassured, a smirk still evident across his lips, "a strong reaction is better than no reaction in my book" and he hitched the thick coil of rope up onto his shoulder with a jerk. The relief must've been evident in Makoto's expression, because the sculptor continued to chuckle all the way out of the park and onto the street.

"So, you mentioned Future Fish," Rin said idly "maybe you know my baby sister Gou?" The name did sound pretty familiar, but Makoto couldn't quite place it. "She's got red hair and eyes like mine," he continued "she's kind of a ball-breaker?" He added with a comical grimace.

"Ah, Matsuoka-san!?" Makoto concluded, and then felt a little bit guilty.

"Yeah that's the one" Rin chuckled with a fond roll of his eyes. They crossed the road in silence, Rin fending off the weird looks they received from pedestrians, Makoto trying not to accidentally decapitate them as they passed.

"Huh, it's a small world" Makoto mused as they rounded a corner "I can't believe your little sister's my literary agent." It was strange, a few weeks ago it felt like he barely knew anyone in this city.

"Yeah well, every family's got their overachiever" Rin huffed, but his proud brotherly smile unintentionally softened the hint of mocking sarcasm in his tone. "Speaking of overachievers, what you got planned with boy genius today? More creative collaboration?"

"Um, well I'm not actually seeing Haru today. He's at work." And it was embarrassingly clear in his voice that Makoto was disappointed.

"Oh shit, really?" Rin stopped in his tracks "sorry I just assumed that's where you were headed, I wouldn't have got you to carry this crap otherwise" and the look of guilt on Rin's face was sweetly endearing.

"It's fine," Makoto dismissed and prompted Rin to carry on walking "I needed an excuse to get out of my apartment anyway. So, where are we going?" He said cheerfully as if embarking on an exciting journey.

"Ok, well I need to swing by the art shop actually - so it looks like you'll be seeing Haru today after all" his guilt gradually being replaced by satisfaction at how well things had apparently turned out.

"Um," Makoto faltered, and he bit his lip when he felt Rin's questioning eyes glance over his way. "It's just that, I've taken up so much of Haru's time already, I don't want to bother him at work as well." He sounded kind of pathetic, and his defeated line of vision drifted down to the pavement as they walked.

"Ha," Rin snorted to himself, "seriously - if he's kept you around for this long, you must be doing _something_ right" he all but muttered and then attempted to scratch his cheek with the shoulder not holding the rope.

"S-sorry, what was that?" Makoto enquired, narrowly missing a shop awning with the branch as he attempted to angle himself closer.

"And here we are!" Rin exclaimed and redirected Makoto's attention to the little art shop across the street, quaintly wedged between a bakery and an old fashioned chemists. The sign above the front window had orange coloured text on a faded white background, it read 'Mikoshiba Art Supplies' and there were easels and various types of canvas on display. Makoto thought maybe he recognised the name from somewhere, but couldn't quite put his finger on it.

A little brass bell jingled on the door as they entered, Makoto having propped the piece of tree safely up against the wall before they came in. The interior was like an Aladdin's cave, with every variety of art and craft material known to man, and by the looks of it probably a few that were still yet to be discovered. Along the walls there were thinly spaced shelves containing a rainbow of coloured and textured papers, pens and paintbrushes sorted into incremental sizes and spindles of everything from satin ribbons to links of metallic chain. The shop floor was quite a lot bigger than it'd looked from the outside, but there was so much stock piled up all around that it was actually a little tricky to manoeuvre in the remaining space without accidentally knocking in to things.

"Be with you in a moment..." Haru's voice called from somewhere in the back, and Makoto's stomach did a little unauthorised flip. Rin set his heavy chainsaw and rope down in front of the counter with a clunk and took a seat just beside it on an unopened crate of paint cans, he then leant across towards the till and proceeded to pummel the innocent little silver cashiers bell with as much enthusiasm and vigour as he possibly could have mustered.

"This'll piss him off" Rin laughed almost to himself.

"Don't worry, it's just Rin" Haru could be heard shouting over the din before he even came into sight, and if Makoto hadn't felt so ridiculously nervous he would've laughed at the visible slump to Rin's shoulders at having been so easily made. Seconds later Haru came strolling through the door which evidently lead to the back room, he had on a long terracotta hued apron that brought out his eyes just perfectly and he was carrying a roll of packing tape and the biggest pair of scissors that Makoto had ever seen. He fixed the redhead with a disapproving stare and threw the scissors down onto the counter, succeeding in causing Rin to jolt suddenly backwards as a reflex.

"How did you know it was me?" Rin grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like a child.

"No one else is that much of a dick" Haru smirked, and then his smiling eyes landed on Makoto. "Hey" he said just a fraction softer, once the initial tiny flicker of surprise had dissipated. Makoto simply replied with a smile and a weird little wave of his hand.

Just then the distinctive peal of a large amount of pencils raining from a particularly high shelf onto the floor could be heard emanating from the direction of the back room. Haru bowed his head and to his credit Rin tried his very best not to laugh his ass off.

"You ok in there?" Haru called wearily, shaking his head at the sniggering sculptor.

"I can sort it out, don't worry!" Came a voice that was entirely too chipper for the apparent severity of the situation. Moments later, a very familiar copper haired boy came bounding out of the back room clutching handfuls of the fallen stationary. he was wearing the same coloured apron as Haru. Well this was odd.

"Makoto-kun? What are you doing here?" And now suddenly everyone was looking at Makoto.

"And how do you know this idiot?" Rin followed up, jabbing his thumb towards the stupidly grinning shop assistant.

"Well, um Momo-kun's my neighbour..." Makoto stammered, feeling the heat of interrogation and after an expectant pause realised he hadn't in fact answered the first question in the slightest. What _was_ he doing here anyway?

"I ran into your writer guy in Ueno Park," Rin helpfully supplied "he gave me a hand with my wood." And Makoto blushed even though it was now plainly obvious that Rin seemed to make this same joke quite a lot.

"Vandalising public trees again?" Haru chided, and Makoto's blush receded into non-existence as the colour drained from his face almost instantaneously. He'd never been in any kind of trouble before, and now he was what... an accessory?

"Relax," Rin chuckled and slapped him on the back "I have an agreement with the warden" but Makoto still had to look back to Haru for some much need reassurance, to which thankfully the artist nodded and smiled a little half guilty smile. 'Sorry'. And at that Makoto felt the tension seep from his joints. "Well then," Rin clapped his hands together "I just need to grab some varnish and then," he turned to Makoto with intent "seeing as you saved me a trip back to the park, I'm gonna buy this writer guy here a drink. What do you say Nanase, you in?"

"Hmm..." He considered, and if Makoto had a tail it would've been wagging. Haru glanced up at a clock on the wall, it was obviously a promotional item as it was shaped like an artist's palette with the numbers represented by little blobs of paint, the two rotating hands made out of slightly different sized paintbrushes. "I don't know, there's still stock to put away..."

"Ugh!" Rin groaned dramatically "come on, it's -" and he looked at the clock "nearly half past burnt umber, you'll be closing up soon anyway."

"That's yellow ochre" Haru corrected blandly, and Rin looked like he wanted to punch him.

"It's ok Haru!" Momo interjected "the storeroom's kind of trashed," he said brandishing the pencils a little too happily "and brother will be back soon anyway, so you can leave a bit early if you want."

Makoto did _not_ hold his breath as he waited, and he certainly did _not_ break out into an uncontrollable grin as Haru slipped the apron from around his delicate neck. He was just excited. To be going drinking with friends. And that was totally normal.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanpai!

 

 

 

Makoto was drunk. It was barely past half eight in the evening and he was already a little more than tipsy. Ordinarily he might've been a bit embarrassed, but right now he couldn't give a shit, he was just having such a good time. In fact, he was currently experiencing that wonderful stage of drunkness, that peculiar window in which every word that came out of his mouth was spun in pure linguistic gold. He'd had just enough alcohol to loosen his inhibitions and fuel his capacity for discussion and banter, but not too much that his speech had started to slur and he'd begun the slide from erudite debate into incoherent bullshit. And he actually couldn't remember the last time he'd done this.

After helping Rin back to the studio with his miscellaneous accoutrements plus a newly purchased vat of heavily discounted wood varnish, the three of them had traipsed around the corner to the nearby Australian theme bar, where the redhead worked his shifts on alternate nights and on weekends. It had still been daylight when they'd arrived, and the quick transition from the bright late afternoon sun to the dimly lit interior had been a little disorientating when Makoto had stepped through the door, and he'd needed to pause for a moment whilst his eyes acclimatised to the shade. But gradually he was able discern the layout inside more clearly; the slowly rotating ceiling fan overhead, the compact little bar area and the three or four clusters of small tables and chairs pulling into ever sharpening focus as each revealing second went by. The dark panelled walls were covered in glossy photographic prints of famous Australian scenery and presumably equally famous sporting personalities, and there were random objects such as aboriginal masks and full-scale surfboards hanging from hooks and wires dotted around in between. The place was a little on the small side, but it made up for it by painstakingly cramming every conceivable item of vaguely antipodean origin into each single square foot of precious available space. It was very, distinctive.

Makoto joined the others at the bar, taking the stool next to Haru, and gallantly trying his best not to feel too uncomfortable under the steely gaze of a sinister looking stuffed kola perched rather ominously amidst the spiny green fronds of the potted yucca by his side. But then no sooner had he sat down than he was promptly furnished with his first Aussie beer of the evening, and the three of them clinked their frosty glass tankards as if to signal that the drinking was now officially in progress.

The outlandish owner and current acting bartender was a guy named Sasabe and as first impressions went he seemed almost as unique as his own eccentric establishment, he had a large gold hoop earring and a star shaved into the side of his asymmetric hairdo, and he was also dressed in a particularly garish and somewhat anomalously patterned Hawaiian shirt for whatever unknown and apparently unchallenged reason. At some point later on in the evening Makoto would share with him a rather in-depth and strangely illuminating conversation about the import and rising market value of ostriches.

They'd spent a while ensconced at the bar but eventually drifted over to one of the little pub style tables to make room for another group of customers, and after serving his new patrons Sasabe had brought them some complimentary plates of otsumami, mostly comprising of frankfurters cut like octopus, steamed edamame salted in their pods and various packets of oddly flavoured potato snacks. Makoto hadn't realised just how hungry he really was until it arrived unannounced, having had only cereal for lunch now several hours previous, and he gladly and slightly greedily accepted his share of the weirdly presented yet thoroughly welcome feast. It was probably quite fortuitous too, because although Makoto was by no means a total lightweight when it came to drinking, proceedings were escalating rather quickly and it was probably a good idea to make an attempt at lining his stomach.

The atmosphere was relaxed but jovial, and unsurprisingly Rin really seemed to play up to a captive audience. He'd tell jokes and funny little stories about his time spent working behind the bar, occasionally coercing Haru into helping with the delivery of one of his amusing anecdotes, and it was kind of sweet to see how the artist would allow himself to be teased by his often overly exuberant friend.

Sometime after their third drink, Makoto had posed what he thought had been a rather simple and fairly innocent question about the identity of the woman after whom the bar was named, but which instantly resulted in Haru setting his glass down dramatically and propping his chin on one hand, looking to Rin with the defeated sigh of a person who knew they were in for the long haul. Apparently, Rin enthused rather passionately, the eponymous 'Matilda' was not some random chick as was the common misconception, but instead referred to an old Australian folk song about a solitary wanderer and his fabled pack of provisions. His knowledge and explanation were truly extensive. In fact it turned out that Rin had actually lived in Sydney for several years as a child, although he was quick to point out that this was in no way the reason behind his particular choice of employment, it just so happened that this place was conveniently close to the studio was all. Haru rolled his eyes at that, but stopped short of calling him out, obviously having learnt from experience that it wasn't worth the effort in voicing his fond disbelief.

It felt really good to spend time with Haru like this. Because whilst Makoto's weak attempt at professionalism had gone out the window a fair while ago - probably around the time he'd begun the search for an adequate description for that extraordinary shade of blue - up until this point he'd only really seen the artist within the context of their work. Sitting alongside Haru whilst he sipped at his beer and shot dry one liners back at his friend was just so enjoyable, and it was both insanely comfortable and immensely exhilarating all at once. Because although he'd only known Haru for a short couple of weeks, and now Rin for even less than that, he felt strangely at home in this odd little bar, like he was somewhere he belonged and had been missing out until today. He was sort of pretty sure it wasn't just the beer talking too. He'd been on nights out since moving to Tokyo, often being invited along to the office parties or drinks after work by his colleges at the various different companies he'd temped at, but whilst he'd had a decent enough time he'd always felt like kind of an outsider. Tonight though he felt like he was among friends, like this was proper socialising, like he shared a connection with them. With Haru.

"Oh my god Haru," Rin giggled uncontrollably "seriously, you don't remember?" And he took another gulp of his beer whilst trying not to laugh.

"Nope" Haru monotoned and looked off to the side with disinterest, causing his friend to throw his head back in a knowing cackle and then turn to a bemused Makoto with a toothy grin.

"So, back in art school we all took turns to model for this life drawing class - no budget to hire professionals or some shit like that - anyway, this guy..." Rin pointed an increasingly uncoordinated finger towards Haru and Makoto's eyes shifted to take a quick peek at the artist still stubbornly pretending not to listen. "This guy takes off his shirt - which was normal" he adds in response to Makoto's flicker of shock, "but then," and he giggles again "then he just drops his pants like he's not in the middle of a room full of people..." Rin's now contorting with laughter as the memories evidently flood back. "And the best part, he's wearing these fucking jammers underneath, and everyone's like what the hell? A-and so half the room's drooling and the rest are just staring like he's gone completely nuts... Oh man it was just... Pft..."

"It's a habit." Haru mumbled grumpily. "Anyway," he added a little louder "drawing clothes is boring."

"Oh, so you do remember?" Rin smirked, but his thoughts had already moved on before Haru could even deny it. "Oh my god, and that teacher - what's-his-name-Sensei - he went all weird and decided to spray you with water to make it more 'artistic', now that guy was damn creepy" and he drained his glass with a chuckle.

"You've known each other since art school?" Makoto enquired, nursing his own drink with a smile and willing himself not to blush at Rin's rather evocative descriptions.

"Yeah, we went to Geidai right here in Taito, and I've been lumbered with this dumbass ever since" Rin sighed with comic exasperation, and Haru concurred with a grunt as he finished off his beer. "Right, I'm gonna hit Goro up for some more free drinks, I'm thinking maybe whiskey this time..." And the redhead ambled over to the tiny bar, taking the empty glasses with him.

"Rin's nice." Makoto stated with genuine warmth, picking through the last of the snacks.

"Hmm" was Haru's rather noncommittal response, but a slight curl to his lip seemed enough to prove that he didn't think his friend was a _total_ dick, and Makoto's quiet laugh made his smile broaden just a little more.

"Um, Haru..." Makoto started with a hint of trepidation, his eyes falling to the table where his fingers played nervously with a discarded empty soybean pod. "I'm sorry about barging in on you at work today, I know you've given up so much time for me already..."

"Makoto," and Haru's gentle tone brought the author's line of sight back up to his face "it's fine, don't worry about that. And this was fun." Makoto's stupid heart betrayed him with a skipped beat at that, and if he wasn't very much mistaken there was a slight spike of colour to Haru's delicate cheekbones, although he reluctantly conceded the possibility it may just be the booze.

Soon after, Rin returned to the table with an open half bottle of Hakushu whiskey in one hand and three short ice-filled tumblers clutched in the other, a wicked grin plastered dangerously across his face. Makoto didn't usually go in for hard liquor, but the redhead's enthusiasm was so contagious that he found himself automatically accepting the heady scented beverage and taking sips of the smokey brown liquid without question, marvelling at the way it slid so easily down his throat and warmed his chest rather pleasantly. Things were getting a little messy.

"No, it's science" Haru asserted blearily "the benefits of omega 3 are proven, _and_ -" he planted a finger firmly on the table "research shows it aids a greater alcohol tolerance level."

"Bullshit" Rin sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest and his eyes squinting a little too excessively "cos most Japanese don't drink that much - and we eat fish all the fucking time!"

"Wrong fish," Haru said rather woefully "it has to be the right kind... Like mackerel" and he hiccuped. And Makoto must be more drunk than he thought, because that was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"What a surprise," Rin chided sarcastically and then turned to Makoto with a smirk "this guy eats mackerel like practically everyday."

"Really!?" Makoto giggled, and then noticing the slight furrow to the artist's brow pressed his fingers over his smiling lips in a delayed attempt to control their output. "I mean, well that's pretty good, all I eat is instant ramen... I'm terrible in the kitchen." Makoto rubbed his neck with embarrassment. "Once," he admitted "I tried cooking dinner for this girl I was dating, and it got so bad we actually had to call the fire brigade..." But his self deprecating chuckle was cut short by Rin's dramatic splutter as he choked on his drink and had to slam the tumbler down on the table.

"Girl?" He managed to croak out, and Haru calmly leant over to give him a few medicinal slaps on the back to try and dislodge the last of the whiskey that was evidently burning his windpipe.

"Um, well yeah. We're not together anymore," he said self consciously, watching the ice continue to melt into his drink "people drift apart I suppose..." The slow silent seconds that followed were the first and only awkward moment of the entire evening.

As if sensing the mood, a large straw cowboy hat came soaring through their little corner of the bar, it's brim spinning smoothly as it executed its majestic and perfectly precise trajectory into Rin's still exquisitely baffled face. The three of them stared dumbfounded at the disruptive piece of headwear where it settled to a precarious landing half on the table and half in the sculptor's lap, the cacophonous belly laugh of the ostentatious bartender ringing out clearly from the other side of the room.

"Oh yeah," Rin said slowly, his conspiring grin matching the arch of his brow, "about the whiskey, it wasn't exactly free..." Haru's skeptical eyes narrowed "I promised Goro we'd do the routine."

"No chance." Haru deadpanned, subconsciously pushing the ill-gotten liquor away. Makoto was so thoroughly intrigued that he couldn't prevent his slightly unfocused gaze from switching alternately from one stubborn man to the other, as if watching a scandalous soap opera playing out live in front of him.

"We used to work in this club..." Rin began in explanation, still not quite breaking the standoff, and Makoto was compelled to shake his mind from the gutter as the words 'club' and 'routine' converged in his conscious rather salaciously.

"No," Haru reaffirmed "I'm tired - I've been at work all day, and we've both had too much to drink."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to work a couple of shifts to cover it then. That Hakushu's expensive you know." And Rin stared him down with unashamed smugness. A few tense minutes went by, and Makoto was both simultaneously oblivious and completely enthralled.

"Fine." Haru grumbled through gritted teeth, standing up and placing the cowboy hat a little too forcefully on his friend's devious head before making his way over to the bar.

"Ha! Come and watch this." Rin beamed triumphantly, rubbing his hands together as he followed on behind.

Haru lifted up the hinged part of the counter and the pair proceeded to file into the bar area, shooing Sasabe out to go and join his customers, Makoto took a seat on a vacant stool and watched as they gathered together a mixture of items, one of them visibly more enthusiastic than the other.

Suddenly Haru threw a glass up into the air, and before the spectators could even finish drawing their breaths in surprise he caught it behind his back and quickly flipped it back up high above his head, landing it artfully in the crook of his neck and rolling it down his outstretched arm. Next he swiped a thin glass bottle from the counter and after expertly juggling the two items several times he tipped a generous measure of translucent alcohol into the tumbler and capped it off by firmly knocking an ice filled shaker onto the end. Without looking he sent the object arcing through the air into the redheads waiting hands, and they began volleying bottles and glasses in the space between them with impressive rhythm and practiced flair. It was clear that Rin sparked a competitive drive within Haru, both of them speeding up and performing increasingly risky shots, adding more bottles and random objects into the mix as they continued. There was a moment when Rin almost let a bottle of tequila slip from his grasp, but the little derisive huff he received from Haru only seemed to spur him on and the gasps from the crowd instantly melted back into loud cheers and applause. Makoto couldn't take his eyes off Haru, he was so graceful and composed, metal and glass spinning an aerial display around him as if gravity was not a force to be given any mind.

He was vaguely aware of feeling slightly jealous, of Rin and his obvious bond with the artist. The two had a shared history, memories from years long passed and little in-jokes that Makoto couldn't begin to understand without explanation. He wanted to have that with Haru. That wasn't to say that he disliked the redhead, Rin had been nothing but welcoming, and he was glad that Haru had a person he could rely on. He just hoped one day he could be one of those people too.

The cheers from the onlookers grew louder as the glassware careened ever higher in its orbit, and Rin began bombarding his partner with various items that the artist had to speedily set down on the bar. Finally Rin threw him the shaker, which Haru caught on the flat of his hand, and after one last spin in the air he strained the drink into a waiting martini glass, the large straw cowboy hat landing jauntily atop his head with perfect timing, courtesy of Rin. The bar went completely mental, and as the raucous ovation continued Haru pushed the celebrated cocktail almost shyly towards Makoto, before slipping the hat from his head and placing it back on the redhead with a soft little laugh. Makoto was awestruck, it was the best thing he'd seen in his life. Ever. And he never wanted this night to end.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsk tsk. Late agaaaaiiin.

 

 

 

He knew before he'd even opened his eyes that he was broken.

For some reason his hips and lower back were tingling with an intense throbbing soreness, and a bolt of jagged pain struck through Makoto's head as soon as he tried to move. Upon shifting slightly he found that his shoulders were all bunched and strained uncomfortably, he felt decidedly sweaty and gross, and on top of all of that disagreeable information his throat seemed hoarse and his stomach felt kind of weird. He hadn't woken up like this for a long time.

With effort Makoto opened one of his exhausted eyes, and with a mixture of shock and confusion took a little longer than was usually necessary to process the astonishing vision that was in front of him. He was looking straight at Haru.

He tried to sit up, but found the sudden motion too troubling to his delicate system, so opted for simply squinting out into the unfamiliar room from where he lay. It was too bright for his brain, but Makoto had spent enough time studying the artist over the last couple of weeks to know exactly at whom he was now looking, however when he tried to trace back the events of the previous night, all he could remember was the copious amounts of alcohol they'd consumed and a sickening twist in his stomach immediately put stop to that queasy train of thought.

Makoto couldn't even remember having left the bar, let alone how he'd found himself in his current set of curious circumstances. He felt strangely disorientated and unusually vulnerable, but the ensuing panicky edge was most definitely taken down a few notches by his sheer debilitating tiredness, his ravaged body and mind simultaneously resigning themselves to whatever the fates had in store for him.

He felt like maybe he'd have some explaining to do. And if Haru could possibly fill in a few blanks, well that would be just great.

Haru was standing in front of a small countertop stove, he had his back to him but if Makoto's remaining senses could be relied upon, he seemed to be cooking. Makoto tried stretching his cramped long legs, but found the unhelpfully solid arm of the couch he was currently mangled upon constricted his movements rather considerably, and had no doubt contributed to his present crumpled state of joint-aching unease.

He decided the best plan of action was to stay right where he was until the room had ceased its spinning, and instead occupied his barely functioning mind by watching Haru as he worked. It was strangely reminiscent of their time in the studio, except this time Makoto felt a little bit like he was dying. Also, unlike at the studio, Haru had forgone his usual understated spectrum of of stylish clothing in favour of a pair of blue plaid pyjama pants and a faded blue apron that served to shield his bare chest from the scolding spatter of the frying pan. Makoto ran his eyes rather guiltily across Haru's naked shoulders, down the long length of his spine and over the jut of his hip before it was inconveniently concealed behind the fractionally too small apron. He licked his parched lips and swallowed thickly, blaming his lingering gaze on the fact that he still wasn't quite awake yet. But Haru's skin looked so creamy and soft.

Just then Haru took a half turn to his right, decanting the contents of the pan onto a waiting plate, and Makoto snapped his eyes closed unnecessarily tight for fear of being caught out peeping, the resultant tension in his clamped facial muscles causing a strangled groan to issue from his lips. This was indeed a terrible start to the day.

Moments later Makoto was suddenly aware of a quiet presence looming over him, casting a gentle shadow against his still spuriously shuttered eyelids, which in actual fact was rather soothing. He slowly and somewhat reluctantly opened his eyes, and as predicted found that Haru was standing in front of the couch looking down at him, a hint of amusement in his face and a small tray of food in his hand.

"Morning..." Makoto rasped sheepishly, wincing at the way his surprisingly low voice creaked in a particularly unattractive way.

"Sit up" Haru ordered firmly, the smallest of smirks softening his tone by just a little and Makoto found himself complying with his simple request, hauling himself stiffly into an upright position as if he hadn't just spent the last couple of minutes wallowing in his own hungover misery. "Here, you should eat this," and Haru pushed the tray into his hands, removing the little handle-less cup of green tea and setting it down on the side table before making his way back to the kitchenette. "I don't have coffee" his host apologised rather gruffly, and Makoto allowed himself a little smile whilst his back was turned. Haru remembered.

"I like tea," Makoto reassured dumbly "tea's great, this is... Great" and he picked up the accompanying pair of shiny black lacquer chopsticks and focused in on the appetising plate of food in his lap. His stomach growled and churned simultaneously, he was actually quite hungry but although hangovers weren't especially common, he usually found it a bit difficult to eat first thing on the morning after a big night out. Nonetheless he began to pick at his meal, Haru had made a rather impressive looking omurice with a thin lattice of tomato ketchup, and there was a large fillet of some kind of fish perched neatly on the top. He started with the comfortingly stodgy rice dish first, not quite ready to trust his weakened constitution with the strong smelling seafood just yet, and in the back of his mind attempted to recall a possible conversation that maybe they'd had the previous night about the importance of a certain type of fish, but the context was all muddled and he decided it was probably best not to think too hard. In any case, he was now getting to experience Haru's cooking, so things hadn't turned out too badly. "Mmh, this is good," he called with his mouth a little too full, glancing over to the kitchenette but finding Haru a lot closer than he'd expected. He gulped his mouthful and scooted over on the couch, making room for Haru to sit down, his own identical plate carried on the top of a battered old wooden chopping board instead of a tray.

"It's just fried rice, eggs and fish" Haru dismissed easily, but Makoto knew that if he'd attempted to make it they'd probably have ended up with a plate full of carbonised garbage. Best case scenario.

"It's good" he repeated, now shovelling the delicious food as quickly as he could manage, his grip on the chopsticks still a little uncoordinated. They ate in comfortable silence, side by side on the couch with the blanket Makoto had been covered in rumpled at their backs and their clothed knees almost touching, and Makoto took the opportunity to take an idle look around Haru's living room and kitchen. Unsurprisingly it had a similar feel to the studio, with few personal possessions on show and the only real clutter coming from the shelves with their vast quantities of books - both novels and reference volumes this time. However there was a distinct lack of art on the plain white walls, given Haru's profession, and Makoto found himself wondering if he intentionally kept these areas of his life separate.

"Your tea will go cold" Haru said quietly at his side, and Makoto realised he'd stopped eating to simply gawp around at the contents of Haru's apartment.

"Sorry" he muttered guiltily, reaching for his drink and taking a sip, but Haru made a kind of soft grunting noise and a shrug, which somehow instantly reassured Makoto that his perpetual nosiness hadn't actually caused any offence. "Um, Haru... About last night, uh, what..." And he trailed off with his gaze set firmly on his plate, more out of embarrassment than manners this time, because well that was just such a clichéd thing to say.

"We left Matilda's Bar pretty late, you'd had quite a lot of cocktails so Rin helped me bring you back here - since it's not far, and we put you to bed on the couch." A light dusting of pink had settled over Haru's cheeks, and Makoto experienced a quick succession of fuzzy flashbacks; of singing rowdy songs with Rin, of wearing that stupid cowboy hat, of being propped up between the two of them as they walked together through the chill of the streets in the early morning hours.

"Oh," Makoto squeaked, his blush rapidly overtaking Haru's and approaching a shade more like that of the red plaid shirt that he'd been wearing since yesterday afternoon, "I didn't do anything... embarassing did I?"

"You said you felt like you were floating in the ocean" Haru said bluntly, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes showed he was actually trying very hard not to laugh at him.

"Haru!" Makoto blurted out accusingly, jostling him with his elbow and causing them both to descend into a relaxed bout of chuckling. Makoto really hoped that was the only embarrassing thing he'd said. "Ah, is Rin still here?" And he leant forward from the couch to peer through the living room door, presumably the direction of the bathroom and Haru's own room.

"No, he went straight home. He only lives a few streets over" and Haru stacked their now empty plates and took them through to the kitchen. "I'm going to the studio, you can come if you want" he said with his back to the room as he rinsed the crockery under the tap.

"Um, okay" Makoto tried not to sound too enthusiastic.

"You can have a shower if you like" Haru said as he came back to collect the tea cups, "I don't have any clothes that will fit you" and his eyes wandered over the author almost appraisingly. Makoto tried his best not to feel too ridiculously flustered as he felt Haru's sapphire gaze on him, though admittedly he was a little disappointed when it was gone.

"Ah, t-that's ok, these were clean on yesterday anyway," he stammered "I'll just..." And he gestured towards the door. Haru nodded and went back to the washing up, and Makoto was suddenly struck by how incredibly domestic this all felt. Perhaps he should have that shower a little cooler.

Less than an hour later they were back in the studio, Haru sitting by the window and Makoto taking up his usual spot on the couch, but looking just a tad more lazy than he normally would. Because although his stomach was now settled, he still had a minor headache and continued to feel absolutely shattered and slightly achy. Even the sugar-packed coffee they'd stopped for along the way didn't seem to be having much effect. He didn't feel as bad as when he'd first woken up, but possibly the fact that his clothes still faintly smelled of alcohol wasn't helping, and although he'd had a shower he still felt like a bit of a mess. Haru on the other hand looked positively radiant, his skin was clear and his eyes were bright, in fact he didn't seem to be effected one bit. Makoto wanted to ask him how he did it, but then he'd have to admit that he'd been admiring him, and he didn't need to add awkwardness to the mix of unnecessary stimulus he as currently working through.

"Good morning you two," Rin seemed to shout as he came through the door and made his way across the studio to sit on the arm of the couch, Makoto motioned to get up but thankfully the sculptor raised a hand to signal he was fine where he was. "I don't know, I take you guys for a quiet little drink and look what happens. You're a terrible influence" and he smirked before taking a large gulp from the family sized bottle of Pocari Sweat in his grasp. Makoto wondered if that was the secret ingredient that allowed him to be so very chirpy, and Haru looked like he was battling a headache for the first time that entire morning.

“To start with,” Haru began, running his fingers through his hair as if it would help to relieve his irritation “you’re the one who-“ but his reprimand was unexpectedly cut short by a sharp percussion of knocks at the open studio door.

“Nanase” addressed the tall man in the doorway, his teal coloured eyes sweeping the room and falling on Rin, who coincidentally seemed to be looking for a place to hide all of a sudden. “Matsuoka”.

“Oh hey Sousuke, didn’t see you there” Rin lied smoothly, and they stared each other down with a hint of roguish challenge in their equally narrowed eyes. Makoto sat up properly this time, his head swimming slightly as it attempted to keep up with his body.

“Whatever. You know what I’m here for, so let’s not piss around this time” and he came further into the room, standing by the couch with an expectant expression on his face and his hands set firmly across his chest. Makoto didn’t know whether it was just because he was feeling ‘delicate’, but this guy seemed kind of intimidating.

“Yeah, about that…” Rin drawled, absently flicking through the pages of a book about traditional Japanese architecture that he’d evidently just picked up so he didn’t have to make eye contact, “I might need a couple more days.”

“tch,” the new guy bristled, “just because this place is called Studio Free-“

“-doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay the rent” chorused Haru and Rin together, without even missing a beat. Makoto looked between the three of them bewildered, once again he had no idea what was going on.

“This is Yamazaki Sousuke,” Haru eventually clarified “he’s our landlord" and the tall guy in question nodded a perfunctory greeting before turning his attention back to his tenants, makoto was kind of glad he wasn’t expected to make polite conversation.

"Heh, landlord's stretching it a bit" Rin chuckled as he threw the book down onto Haru's desk "it's only because his parents own the building - they're massive hippies, that's why he's turned out like he's got a stick up his ass. They bought this place in the 70s and signed it over to him a few years ago when they left to travel the world, or join a cult? One of the two."

"Either way," Yamazaki continued, completely ignoring the bait much to the sculptors chagrin "you still owe me money."

Haru got up with a sigh and nudged Rin out of the way of his desk, he crouched down in front of the drawers and proceeded to perform a sequence of very precise little shuffles and knocks as he slowly coaxed the wonky top drawer open, the others taking a moment to silently observe the peculiar ritual play out.

"You should let me fix it," Rin muttered with mild disbelief "I could get my tools and do it now?" He offered, possibly just as a diversion tactic but looking questioningly at Haru nonetheless. Makoto felt an irrational sense of outrage, as if someone had proposed the straightening of the Leaning Tower or decided that Stone Henge was in need of a good lick of paint. It was an over exaggeration and he knew it, but Makoto really loved that desk the way it was - not in spite of but _because_ of its flaws.

"No thanks," Haru said as he stood up and handed a small envelope to Yamazaki "I like my stuff in one piece" and Rin looked at him as if he were a traitor. It wasn't clear if it was because of what Haru had just said, or the fact that he'd evidently just paid his rent.

"Come on then Rin, hand it over" and Yamazaki held out his hand towards the redhead.

"I told you, I don't have it. I don't get paid until next week" and Rin tried his very best to look earnest, but for some reason couldn't quite pull it off.

"Well, if you can't pay me with money, maybe you should pay with your body," he said in a tone that may or may not have been joking, but which definitely landed firmly on the smug side. "But of course you'd know all about that wouldn't you Nanase? What do you think, would I get my money's worth?" And his dark laughter was met with only silence.

Makoto's ribcage felt too small all of a sudden, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and his heart beat out in a strange arrhythmia. Why would Haru know that about Rin? Why had it all gone quiet? But most of all, why did it hurt so much?

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little chapter is mildly angsty, just FYI. Mako is a silly boy. X

 

 

 

His key turned smoothly in the lock and Makoto pulled open his heavy apartment door, the air inside seemed noticeably stale as he walked in and trod down the backs of his sneakers to kick them off, abandoning them in a careless jumble before continuing on towards the kitchen. He set his convenience store carrier bag down on the countertop and proceeded to unload his groceries; poached salmon and plum onigiri, random flavour cup noodle, a six pack of Sapporo and a fuck-ton of chocolate. He stared down at the dead eyed cartoon teddy bear that was emblazoned across an industrial sized bar of Lotte, which just so happened to be at the top of the high-rise pile of confectionary that scattered across his counter like a recently aborted game of edible jenga. That little bastard would be the first to go.

He felt a distinctive sense of anger well up in his chest as he looked over this arbitrary haul of products that he couldn't actually remember purchasing, and then a second wave of irritation swept over him as he began slamming cupboard doors and putting things away. Why did he suddenly have such a bitter taste in his mouth.

He'd managed to stick it out at the studio for a couple more hours, until about mid afternoon, before he was abruptly struck with the never before felt urge to just get the hell out of there fast. After Yamazaki had made that throw away comment about Haru and Rin, about them having been more than just good friends, he'd felt instantly winded and slightly sick, and he only barely registered the weird atmosphere in the room and how it had subsequently soured. But it must have shown on his face, because as Rin ushered his landlord over the corridor to his own studio space, where apparently he'd make an attempt to scrounge up enough money to cover the most pressing of the bills, the redhead had shot him a brief and strangely cautious look that was laced with something like guilt, or maybe it was pity? Makoto wasn't really in the right frame of mind to interpret it fully.

Haru hadn't said anything for a long time after that, he'd just continued to stare out of the window as if lost in his thoughts, or possibly even his memories. And Makoto was kind of fine with that, he wasn't really sure he wanted to hear about them anyway. But then he'd shifted where he still sat on the couch, suddenly feeling the tiredness roll in and was considering lying back down, when Haru's unfocused gaze had drifted from the view of the street below to follow his movement, and for once Makoto found that the artist's expression was frustratingly unreadable.

"About what Yamazaki said," Haru began, not quite meeting his eye "about me and Rin..."

"Ah, you don't have to..." He'd reassured, almost pleaded.

"It's true," and Makoto's gut tightened in another painful twist "we were together. Like that."

"Oh" was all that he'd been able to manage.

He wasn't even certain why it was that he felt so annoyed, so betrayed. He had no claim over Haru, had no right to hold any objections towards the relationships he conducted, whether in the past or even right now. Hell, he'd known Haru for less than a month and had only actually met him through work as it was, so it'd never even been a social thing to begin with. But regardless, the pain was there.

He plucked a chilled can of beer from the pack before putting the rest in the fridge, but then moments later had swung the neurotically rattling door back open to retrieve a second - who was he trying to kid. More alcohol was probably the last thing he needed after the previous evenings impromptu binge, but his custodial brain had evidently taken the decision to make the purchase in his absence, and had now subsequently placed it in his hand along with the doomed bar of chocolate before he made his way into his living room.

Makoto stared at the couch, it reminded him of Haru.

Instead he plonked himself down on the carpeted floor, his back leaning up against the emotive piece of furniture, and his legs stretching out under the low chabudai table that was in easy reach for the convenient placement and repetitive supply of cold beer. His hand instinctively brushed over the remote, but on second thought he decided he wasn't really in the mood for the TVs constant ramblings. With his current luck, there'd probably be a special season of programmes revolving around the origins and historical significance of the couch. Or weird uncalled for jealously.

Because in the the end that's what this was. He was still ridiculously confused, but Makoto already knew that he wasn't exactly angry with Haru. Sure, it had stung a little, to know that he was out of the loop once again. That he'd spent an evening drinking with _friends_ , but maybe he'd been more like a third wheel, politely tacked on to the side. But he couldn't really be angry, he hadn't insisted that Haru tell him his entire relationship history, or even divulged much of his own for that matter.

Using his fingernail on the packaging he scored a line between the first row of squares on the giant bar of chocolate, then snapped them off, taking the teddy bear's right ear with it. He wasn't usually this sadistic - even the cutesy looking bentos his mother would make for him and the twins used to make him feel a little bit guilty, tucking in to those poor little kitten shaped rice balls and apples cut like bunnies. But today he couldn't make himself care, and he felt no remorse as the vacuous bear was gradually shredded, providing him with the unusual but not entirely unpleasant combination of sugary sweet chocolate and cold bitter larger - both of which he was probably going to regret indulging in later.

It was about the time he was absently comparing his strong Japanese beer to the fizzy Australian beverage he'd sampled the night before, that he wondered exactly when it was that his entire frame of reference had shifted to revolve exclusively around Haru. Shit, he couldn't even enjoy his own soft furnishings without it pulling at his heart strings; without him thinking about their days spent chatting at the studio, or the fact that Haru must have covered him over in that blanket when he'd passed out last night, or even the ridiculously comfortable way they'd eaten breakfast side by side that very morning.

He'd be fooling himself if he thought he could simply write it off as normal behaviour, but honestly, he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to rationalise it either. He'd known Haru for such a short amount of time, but on the other hand he couldn't really remember what it was like not to feel that connection, back when he was still temping and his life seemed a little more empty, even if he hadn't actually recognised it at the time.

So perhaps that's what it was, Makoto pondered as he cracked open his second can of beer. Maybe he was getting Haru mixed up with his dream of becoming an author. That could be feasible. They'd met at around the same time his career had begun to take off, and Haru was obviously deeply involved in helping him make his book a reality. Maybe he was just transferring his emotions onto the artist. Maybe these strange and confusing feelings he'd been having could just be simply explained away as misplaced passion for his work.

"Bullshit" he said aloud into the quiet of the living room, as he deployed the last shard of chocolate into his mouth and allowed it to slowly melt on his tongue. Bullshit. His pop psychology was a decent enough theory, but where it really fell down was Rin. If it was true that he saw Haru as a mere personification of his career goals, why would his past relationship with the sculptor bother him so much. Because it did, and there was no getting away from that fact.

Well then, he sighed, that unfortunate realisation brought him full circle and rather pathetically back around to uncalled for jealousy. Makoto stretched forward onto the little table, his arms easily spanning across its width and his cheek pressing against the cool varnished surface. He squinted at the condensation running down the side of that uniquely tapered silver can of Sapporo, he probably should have something more substantial than just chocolate and beer for his dinner, but he could feel a dark cloud descending - and it was telling him he didn't deserve anything else.

But even so, he still couldn't bring himself to actually hate Rin. It was clear that the redhead was a naturally sociable and easy going type of guy, he'd made Makoto feel nothing but welcome and included him in all the banter having only ever met him on a couple of occasions. Plus, it was plainly obvious that he was Haru's best friend. Well, Makoto inwardly winced, he'd been a little more than that now hadn't he.

"Uugghh!" Makoto exhaled in part frustration and part self-disgust, and he dragged his sorry frame upright to make a stab at the buttons on the remote, perhaps the chatter of the television would be preferable to all this depressing introspection after all. It was a cartoon channel that had subsequently flickered happily into life on the little rectangular screen, the same shows he'd been absently watching when he'd sat there eating his cereal brunch the previous day, like the overgrown kid that he was. With a scowl he wondered if Haru ever made omurice for Rin, and then he bit his own tongue as a self administered punishment and a feeble attempt at a distraction. Unfortunately, having spent most of his life supervising his younger siblings, he'd had many years practice in zoning out the obnoxious music and sound effects of moronic children's TV shows, and so within a matter of minutes he was back to thinking about Haru. And Rin. And Haru and Rin.

He imagined them doing coupley things, like shopping for clothes or going out to cute little cafés and quietly sharing sweets and hot chocolate, giving each other meaningful glances. Were they the type to hold hands in public, did they talk to each other on the phone when they were apart, and had they spent all their free time at each other's apartments and made themselves at home. Makoto only had the handful of serious relationships he'd ever been in to go on, but thinking about the pair of them in those kinds of situations made his blood run strangely cold.

Haru kissing Rin. His brain was a traitor. Haru, sitting in Rin's lap and kissing him. Haru in Rin's bed and in his arms. Haru and Rin making love. The imagery that flickered through his head was vivid and brutal, but he just couldn't help it, like some self destructive impulse was challenging him to keep on going, to keep on thinking the worst. He didn't even know how long they'd dated or why they'd broken up in the end, but they evidently still hung out together, so it couldn't have been anything too bad. They were still best friends after all, had been for a long time now.

His chest filled up with a tense foggy kind of feeling at the thought alone, as if his body was physically rejecting the scenario his brain had cooked up to torture him with. It was similar to the jealousy he'd felt in the bar, watching Haru and Rin during their expertly choreographed display of cocktail making. Except this time it was stronger, now that he actually knew the extent of the history between them. Back then he'd realised he was envious, that he wanted to be important to Haru and he wanted the artist to depend on him like he obviously did with Rin. But even now that he knew more - it was still there, it was deeper, and Makoto realised with an ache that he wanted that side of Haru too. He wanted to know him like that too.

He reached into the chest pocket of his shirt, a shirt that was by now in serious need of a good wash, and he pulled out the little ticket and flier that Haru had given him before he'd left him at the studio. They'd been made for the upcoming art exhibition that was to be held at Studio Free. The flier was printed on glossy paper, the kind that squeaked unpleasantly between the fingers, it was plain white with simple thin black text but below there was an artsy colour photograph of an empty easel in the middle of a busy city park. It looked suspiciously like the one that Makoto had walked through just the day before. The little ticket was a simple rectangle of paper with the words 'admits one' written in large bold text, and underneath was tomorrow's date. Haru had quietly invited him along, and at the time he'd said he would try to make it. But now, now he knew that he just had to be there. He had a few questions that he really needed to ask him.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January has been busy, and I have been lazy - i'm working on posting quicker!

 

 

 

Makoto climbed the shabbily paved steps outside of Studio Free taking two at a time, a certain focused anticipation already tightening in his chest as he neared the entrance way, like that irrational thrill of internal butterflies before boarding a plane or making a speech in public. Because by some extraordinary miracle he'd managed to avoid a second beer-induced hangover, and he was feeling remarkably refreshed even after only having a few short hours of restless sleep. It was almost disconcerting how quickly his perspective had changed, like some kind of switch had been flipped in the night, but then sometimes things just tended to look different in the cold yet thankfully rejuvenating light of day.

Since the last time he'd been in this building he'd experienced a perfect storm of doubt and bitterness and jealousy, and he'd been bombarded with wave after wave of confusing and contradictory feelings that by rights should've left him reeling for days. But in retrospect he’d realised that all that drama was predominantly of his own making, and when the now seemingly minor revelation had come he’d just been shocked and tired, and probably still a little drunk from the night before. So yes, admittedly he’d not taken the news particularly well, had clammed up and spaced out, had spent the evening drowning his angst in beer and chocolate, grumbling to himself like a regretful old man. But somehow he'd woken up feeling a bit more confident and resolved than he had during his previous bout of self-indulgent wavering, and just the promise of seeing Haru at the show provided a perfect opportunity to get himself back to that tentative position he'd already begun to carve out by the artist's side. So what if Haru had dated Rin, was that any reason to discard their friendship? Their connection?

He was still mindful of all those rather serious questions that he desperately needed answers for, but his overriding emotion was that of determination, and perhaps even a little bit of excitement. The flier he'd been given informed that officially the exhibition started at seven o'clock, but Haru had said he could just turn up whenever he liked. He absently hoped that half past four wasn't too early.

He'd never actually been to an art show before, sure he'd visited galleries and museums but he hadn't ever had the cause to go to an actual event, although if he was really being honest he wasn't exactly there to admire the paintings in the first place. But with this in mind he hadn't really known what he should be wearing to such an occasion, because despite having spent the best part of a month at the studio he found he still knew next to nothing about 'the art scene', and all his brain had to reference were the starkly elitist or overly stuffy highbrow examples that formed a composite from the various movies he'd ever seen. But the style of the invite had seemed contemporary enough, so in the end he'd gone with a smart but relaxed looking black cotton dress shirt and a pair of comfy grey trousers that had at one time been a staple of his workwear. And if he'd spent a little extra time, and used a little more product in his hair than he usually did, well that was just because it was nice to make an effort sometimes.

Inside the building was a hive of activity, and there seemed to be a lot more random bodies milling around than Makoto had ever seen there before, the imminent exhibition obviously calling for all hands on deck to get the fashionably dog-eared venue in order. There were people busily measuring wall space with retractable tape measures and there were small groups of men in paint splattered overalls holding ladders steady, whilst someone at the top adjusted the bright halogen down lighters to focus more effectively on the various paintings already being hung. Makoto recognised a few of them from passing in the hallways or those who'd casually greeted Haru a few times, but his purposeful green eyes scanned over the mostly unfamiliar faces in search of just one person in particular, specifically one insanely talented blue eyed artist that he hadn't been able to sleep for thinking about.

He made his way towards that scary freight elevator in the corner of the gallery space, he'd been in it on his own several times by now, when he'd arrived or left without Haru coming with him, but he still didn't really enjoy the experience - with all those alarming creaks and shudders that would be more at home in a fairground haunted house ride than in an unassuming artist’s studio.

"Makoto?" a familiar voice questioned as he reached out to pull the cage door open, and he whipped around to find that he'd just walked straight past the very person he'd intended on going off to the upper floors to find. And in fairness it wasn't really that surprising - Haru was carrying a rather large painted canvas that eclipsed his entire body almost completely, and he was only just managing to peek over the top in an attempt to attract Makoto's attention. The painting looked kind of cute on him, it was a heavily daubed picture of a fat ginger cat sitting perched smugly in a plant pot and using its contents as a makeshift nest, but it was clearly not one of his own, the style and quality were nowhere near as good as he knew Haru's standard to be.

"Ah, Haru!" He unintentionally beamed, and he stood there dumbly until Haru shifted awkwardly with his unwieldy cargo, causing Makoto to jump forward to give him a hand whilst mentally slapping himself for his total lack of chivalry. "Sorry! Here let me help you" and he took one corner of the surprisingly heavy painting.

"Thanks" Haru said a little breathlessly "it's going over there" and he tilted his head in the direction of a large expanse of empty white wall. They half walked, half shuffled towards their intended destination, Haru walking backwards and taking occasional glances over his shoulder as they manoeuvred the artwork into place. Makoto knew he should've been more focused on what they were doing too, but instead he couldn't help but sneakily run his eyes over the artist whilst he was otherwise distracted. Was it bad that now he didn't feel particularly guilty in doing so?

"Can you get it up a bit more sweetie?" shouted a gravelly middle-aged woman's voice from almost half way across the room, and Makoto had to fumble to level the canvas out as Haru raised his corner and looked over his shoulder towards her verbal directions.

"Like this?" Haru called back, and suddenly Makoto's eyes fixated on the artist's throat. He realised he'd never actually heard Haru raise his voice before, whether in anger or simply to be heard above a crowd like just then, and the residual reverberations his strong husky tone sent through him were so oddly thrilling that it sent his own mouth dry as he continued to stare.

"Right more..." The woman requested, and Haru gently pushed the artwork along the wall in Makoto's direction, the author only barely managing to snap out of his daze enough to scoot across so as not to obscure the painting.

"You're early," Haru spoke in his quiet, more familiar voice, casting an oddly searching glance over Makoto's face in a way that made him feel a little self-conscious. Shit, was he really being that obvious?

"Haha, am I?!" He stuttered nervously, and had to turn his head away so that Haru wouldn't see him slowly rolling his eyes at how embarrassingly awkward he sounded.

"Back a bit..." The increasingly annoying twenty-a-day rasp ordered, and this time they both moved in tandem to reinstate the canvas suspiciously close to where it had originally been. Makoto began to feel the faint ache of lactic acid starting to cramp in his muscles.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Haru began, looking a little subdued for some reason.

"Uh," Makoto responded dumbly, as if language and vocabulary weren't the very keystones of his career. But then again, he wasn't really expecting to be the one receiving an apology.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable." He clarified, and Makoto didn't really know how to respond to that, he guessed it was probably pretty obvious as to how shocked he'd been, and then how weird he'd acted for the rest of that afternoon. He just hoped Haru wasn't going to hate him for being so childishly petty and jealous. "The thing is," Haru continued "I'm used to having quite a small circle of friends," and the way he averted his eyes to the floor was so sweetly endearing, if also a little unnerving, "sometimes I forget most people aren't so... relaxed about my kind of lifestyle."

"Oh, no..." Makoto felt a cold shiver run over the back of his neck. No no no. "That's not... honestly, Haru that isn't -"

"Down a little"

"If you want to go back to meeting at the office, I get it" Haru said sadly but firmly, like he'd obviously experienced that kind of rejection before. There was a dull, hard look to his usually so expressive blue eyes, like he'd already begun the process of shutting him out. An act of self-preservation.

"Haru please..." And Makoto was starting to panic; this wasn't the way that things were supposed to go. "Seriously, you could never make me feel uncomfortable because of who you are," he wanted to kick himself for ever having made Haru go through that again, and if Makoto hadn't already got his hands full he would've been reaching across to grasp reassuringly at Haru's arms, but as it was he just had to settle for earnestly imploring him with his eyes and hope that his feelings were understood.

Haru looked him over, reluctant and somewhat suspiciously. Makoto could only hold his breath.

After an almost unbearable pause, Haru yielded and relinquished an exhale that seemed to release a previously unnoticed tension across his heavy shoulders, and he shot Makoto a final curious look before ultimately nodding and bashfully pretending to study the brushwork. Makoto's relief must've been ridiculously clear, only barely catching himself as he narrowly avoided slumping into the canvas when he allowed himself to relax.

"Um Haru, we should probably still have a talk though," Makoto winced as he tried to broach the subject without it sounding too ominous, but as luck would have it Haru merely hummed in agreement without even having to question a glance.

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect. Just stay right there - don't move!" The woman who'd been ordering them about for the last five minutes enthused whilst she approached, and Makoto thought he saw Haru letting out a little weary sigh. Soon enough he realised why. "Thank you so much Haru-kun," the owner of the artwork cooed, and as she reached up to draw a faint line above the canvas she steadied herself by placing her other hand on Haru's hip. Which then promptly slipped to his ass. Makoto nearly choked on his own tongue, and Haru looked so resigned to the whole situation that it would've almost been funny, if Makoto hadn't have been so thoroughly outraged on his behalf.

"No problem Aiko-san," Haru monotoned, subtly pushing her hand away as they finally set the painting down to lean against its allotted stretch of wall. But unfortunately, the movement seemed to have alerted the handsy cat-lady to Makoto's existence, and he straightened up with a gulp when he found her attention was now fully directed at him. Her mass of curly hair was an odd shade of purpley-plum that was coordinated with her darkly pigmented lipstick, and she was wearing a floaty black kaftan type dress, the neckline just a little too low to be considered completely decent. Around her neck was a large enamelled cat's head pendant set with sparkling green gemstones for eyes, her earrings were large bejewelled triangles with the points facing downwards, and they reminded Makoto of pizza. All in all, she was pretty terrifying.

"You're tall aren't you sweetie," her rasp low and suggestive, and Makoto could already feel the blush practically erupting over his face. "And such a smart dresser too," she praised, stroking her varnished fingers over his upper arm and blatantly feeling his muscles.

"Yeah, we should probably get you some overalls," Haru took pity on him, yet was almost smirking as he pointed upstairs. "Do you want to-"

"Yes!" Makoto squeaked a little too quickly.

The elevator ride was quiet, only the mechanical rattles and shakes of the pulleys and cogs around them, and for once Makoto was thankful to have the cage door pulled across.

"She was... Very..."

"Uh-huh" Haru replied blandly, but when in the next moment their awkward line of vision crossed they each finally succumbed to the chuckles of amusement and relieved laughter they'd both been attempting to hold in. "She means well though," the artist added, an almost fond quality concealed behind his usual calming tone.

It was only when Makoto followed Haru into the studio that he remembered he was supposed to be feeling nervous, but it seemed all of his apprehensions had quietly dissolved once he was alone with him, even the talk they were about to have suddenly seemed less daunting.

“Here,” Haru prompted as Makoto reclaimed his spot on the couch, and when he looked up found that Haru was holding out a folded set of navy blue overalls which he accepted with both hands, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise as he looked the paint flecked boiler suit over.

“Oh, so we actually _did_ come up here for these,” and he flashed Haru a playful grin which was rewarded with a tiny smirk.

“Wouldn’t want to get your fancy clothes dirty” Haru quipped, and Makoto felt a tingle of excitement quicken his pulse, because honestly it kind of felt like they were flirting. "It's a bit scruffy" he explained, nodding towards the garment Makoto was already unfurling "and way too big on me anyway", his gaze drifting out of the window he was standing in front of, scanning the scenes below in what seemed to be an idle habit of his.

Makoto began by unlacing his shoes, watching Haru watching people as he did so. Haru wasn't actually wearing overalls himself, he had on a washed out pair of denim jeans with a stretched and faded black long-sleeved top. Even though the smudges of paint and small careless rips showed that these were indeed old clothes and likely only used for work, Haru still managed to make them look kind of smart. He reminded Makoto of those fashionable models on glossy subway posters, the type that it almost hurt to look at for too long, their composure and beauty a little too much for the eyes.

He needed to concentrate on the task at hand so next he took off his trousers and slung them over the arm of the couch, Haru didn't seem to be embarrassed about it or even appear to consider giving him some privacy, so Makoto didn't actually find it weird ether. He pulled the overalls on over his legs, then unbuttoned his shirt and tied the sleeves of the suit around his waist, thankful that he’d chosen to wear a thin black t-shirt underneath that morning.

“so,” Makoto slapped his hands on his knees “what’s to be shifted first?” he questioned whilst scanning the room, “it doesn't look like you've even started” because sure enough all of Haru’s paintings were still on their easels or left propped up against the walls.

“Yeah,” Haru said in a somewhat foreboding tone as he turned from the window and took a seat on the wooden chair “we should probably talk about that…”

“O-ok,” and Makoto suddenly had the feeling he was about to be blindsided once again.

“I won’t be exhibiting my work in the show tonight… I don’t exhibit at all”

“Ok,” Makoto repeated, although he was absolutely still none the wiser.

“It’s a long story, but basically,” Haru continued, his tone and expression devoid of emotion “I have a… benefactor, and he prefers that I don’t display in public.” The statement seemed rather final, but Makoto’s face must have been a picture of confusion because Haru felt the need to expand a little, “I can still do commissions obviously, but as for my own work…” and he trailed off as he glanced away towards his various paintings.

Makoto wasn't sure how he felt about the whole setup, of course he didn't know the details and it was Haru’s decision as to how he should run things, but something didn't feel right, he couldn't put his finger on it, but Makoto could tell that Haru wasn't entirely happy. It felt all wrong. And it wasn't exactly the talk he’d planned on having either, but that whole business with Rin seemed so trivial now, because this was happening in the present, and it seemed to be weighing heavily on the artist’s shoulders, even if he wanted to pretended otherwise.

As Makoto sat there, trying to understand what all this meant, he was suddenly struck by the sobering thought of how little he really knew about Haru’s life.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 

 

For the rest of the afternoon Makoto made himself useful, mostly following Haru around like a giant puppy and offering to do any heavy lifting. But people seemed to be genuinely grateful, and it felt good to feel more a part of the community in which he'd previously been a mere guest. Luckily, the cat-lady was nowhere to be seen, and it transpired that she'd already finished her preparations and had retired to make a start on her evening wear – because apparently, what she'd had on before was considered a little too casual.

They hadn't talked much more about Haru's situation, about this mysterious benefactor who dictated what he could and couldn't do with his own paintings. But Makoto got the feeling that the reason wasn't because Haru didn't trust him, he'd opened up to him about his troubled relationship with his family and even his sexuality after all, but no it was rather that beneath it all Haru actually seemed to be ashamed about this one.

It was fairly obvious that everyone else in the gallery already knew the score, conspicuous by omission, no one asked Haru where his wall space was or if he needed a hand with hanging any artwork. Even so they all sought out his artistic advice, regarding which configurations looked best together or his opinion on whether the overhead lighting needed to be altered. Of course he helped out willingly, and joked with his fellow artists in that subtly dry way that only Haru could, but Makoto couldn't help but watch him from the corner of his eye. He wondered what it must be like for Haru, to be relied upon, to help organise everything and be surrounded by the excitement and celebration of an exhibition that he wasn't really taking part in. Not to his full potential anyway. And it must've been fairly obvious too, because occasionally Haru would meet his eye, like he was somehow completely aware of Makoto's pensive thoughts and would send him an almost disapproving look in return.

"Come on," Haru said, beckoning him over with a weary sigh, and just for a moment Makoto had a funny feeling like he was about to be told off. "There's probably less than an hour until the guests arrive, we should have a break and get changed," and then after a thoughtful pause Haru added "how do you feel about heights?"

And that was how Makoto found himself on the roof of the seven storey building.

After dropping by Haru's studio to change back into their clean clothes and pick up a bottle of water each, they'd taken the elevator to the top floor, and then climbed a spiral staircase that led to a hatch out onto the roof. There were a few plastic lawn chairs, some bristly potted plants and the odd mosaic here and there, but for the most part it was as neglected as the rest of the building. A four foot solid concrete wall ran around the perimeter of the space, it looked like at one time it'd been painted a cheery shade of swimming pool blue, but now after many years of weathering and the failing evening sunlight it more closely resembled the muted grey of the clouds on an overcast morning. Nonetheless, what by all rights should've been rather bleak was actually remarkably soothing.

Haru walked over to an unobstructed stretch of wall and leant an elbow on the concrete ledge, he twisted his wrist to break the seal on his bottle and looked out across the vast city skyline, towards the west where the sun had already begun to stain the sky with amber as it set. Makoto joined him, and whilst Haru idly knocked back a few gulps of his water, he fulfilled his impulsive curiosity in taking a quick peek over the edge towards the ground below. He'd never particularly enjoyed the experience of teetering on the rungs of extended ladders or having to climb up gangly tall trees, but he felt just fine here amongst the rooftops, and there was possibly something very human about the urge to search out the scale of a person when looking down from a high elevation.

"I couldn't paint when I first moved to Tokyo" Haru said softly with his eyes still trained on the horizon, "I knew how," he explained as he sensed Makoto's confusion "I just couldn't."

Makoto straightened from peering over the edge and took a slow quenching draught from his own water; he wanted to ask Haru why, what that meant, keep talking. But instead he just watched him, the last warm rays highlighting his dark glossy hair and causing his pale skin to glow as he continued to contemplate the view. It was almost as if Haru had forgotten he was there, and although their proximity was too close for that really to be true, Makoto felt that if he spoke up or made any sudden movements he might startle Haru from his train of thought, and the subject would be dropped in favour of something less personal and more superficial.

“It was almost nine years ago,” Haru began again, flicking Makoto a glance that was as close to sheepish as he'd ever seen from him, as if he were apologising for being weird or for laying out all of his baggage. Makoto reciprocated with an easy smile, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely curious, but he didn’t want to make it into a massive big deal and have Haru feel pressured to keep going, he was certain that Haru didn't have these deep and meaningful conversations very often. "I... was in my last year of high school, when my parents found me together with a guy from my class, and they threw me out…”

“That must’ve been tough,” Makoto nodded quietly, his expression sympathetic as he remembered their last conversation on the subject. He hadn’t really known what to say the first time, but even if he still didn’t know much about Haru’s past, he felt like he’d somehow learnt a lot more about him since then.

“I had nowhere to go and so I moved to the city,” Haru said plainly, as if he were talking about someone else’s life, “back then I was alone and I didn't really have a plan. I had to support myself by doing some shitty jobs that I’d never want to go back to.” And finally a flicker of emotion spread across Haru’s face, in the form of a slight scowl.

“You don’t have to…” Makoto offered, because although he wanted to know, he wouldn’t ask that Haru dredge up uncomfortable memories on his behalf. He felt a little guilty, because unbeknownst to Haru he’d been brooding like a melodramatic teenager about the whole ‘Rin thing’ and now all that seemed so utterly selfish.

"It's ok," Haru shrugged "I want to," and his eyes drifted to watch his own fingers as they brushed along the faint industrial grain of the concrete parapet. “I got work at an izakaya – one of the less crappy part-time jobs I’d done – and the owner Minato was good to me, even though I wasn’t technically old enough to serve alcohol at the time, the old man gave me just enough hours so I could cover my rent” and Haru looked almost wistful as he reminisced out loud.

“He taught me how to cook simple food for myself and the customers. Sometimes he’d even turn up with a pile of old clothes that apparently didn’t fit anymore and he’d ask me to get rid of them for him. I suppose he kept me from going off the rails completely, and it was probably a bit like what family should feel like.”

“He sounds nice,” Makoto smiled.

“Yeah, he was” Haru muttered, a little bitter-sweet.

If this had been a film, Haru would surely have been smoking a cigarette, looking out across the tempering city, as the restless evening breeze with its newly autumnal edge lightly ruffled the strands of his hair. They should at least be sipping some frosty bottles of beer instead of water, but then ideally these kinds of conversations were best held in the cosy dark at four in the morning, with short bitter coffees and smokey drams, philosophy in the air and the promise of immanent sleep at their heels. As it was, this was all a little raw, and even after Makoto's longing for knowledge, he still wasn't quite prepared for the tangible pain that now filtered freely into Haru's expression, like ink in clean water.

"One of my jobs was to look after the big chalkboard signs that hung outside and over the bar, and if business was slow the old man would let me draw designs on them to brighten up the menu and advertise the place." And Haru paused to kick absently at the wall with the tip of his shoe, "it seemed to work, because soon Minato's place was a talking point, and people would actually stop by to watch me draw."

In that moment, Makoto suddenly thought back to what he'd been doing when he was seventeen. He almost felt bad for wanting to comfort and console Haru, because really he had no idea what it must've been like for him. When Makoto was that age, he was just finishing up school and excited about making future plans. He had two loving parents and a pair of wonderful siblings, his childhood was idyllic in comparison, and to this day he still enjoyed their support. Makoto looked at Haru, really looked at him, and for the first time he realised just how strong the artist actually was.

"Long story short," Haru went on, huffing out a breath as he seemed to will himself to continue, "one of the regulars - an old drinking buddy of Minato's - turned out to be a professor at the nearby Geidai Art School." Haru laughed a little, "I hadn't even heard of it." And he went back to watching his fingers on the ledge. "I ended up getting a scholarship, based on a few sketch books I'd brought from my parent's house and a little portfolio of my chalkboards. I think maybe the professor pulled a few strings," he admitted, dismissing his own talent in a way that made Makoto's chest ache.

"I'm sure they don't just hand out full scholarships to anyone Haru," he protested, which earned him a shy little shrug.

"Anyway," he continued, clearing his throat a little, "that's where I met Rin. He helped me find extra work and he introduced me to all his friends. Obviously it didn't work out between me and Rin, but I'm still really glad to have him in my life." And he looked almost embarrassed to be saying it out loud.

"Rin's a good friend," Makoto said honestly, and Haru rolled his eyes, before his expression turned a little more serious.

"Minato got sick during my last year of school, and... he died within a couple of months," Haru paused and then he laughed bitterly, "I still looked for him at graduation."

Makoto fought the urge to fold him into a crushing hug, because for all the strength he'd recognised just a minute before, now Haru looked so utterly young and vulnerable that it hurt.

"You can still see the old man's place from here," and Haru pointed out a building several blocks away, it was lit up from all directions and being held together with a frame of sturdy scaffolding, but as Makoto squinted he noticed something unusual about the brickwork.

"Is that?"

"Hm," Haru nodded "after I finished school I... broke in and I painted all of the walls with a mural. The plot has already been sold and the new owner wants to tear it down to rebuild, apparently there's a campaign to save it, but I'm not really involved. I don't go down that end of town so much these days." Haru sighed, turning his back on the city and leaning against the wall, "but that's when people started taking notice, calling me an artistic genius and the next big thing." He didn't look particularly happy about the whole situation, but then suddenly he smirked, "Minato would definitely find it funny."

"I'm sure he'd be very proud of you," Makoto stated, and Haru smiled a little sadly. "Is that... after, when you became associated with this benefactor?" And Makoto tried his hardest to keep the concern from his tone.

"Yeah, it was around that time," Haru said blandly as he pulled the sleeves of his grey cashmere sweater over his hands. "Rin invited me to the launch party of Kou's - " and he stopped abruptly to look directly at Makoto "Future Fish. Shigino Kisumi, have you met him before?"

"Uh, I don't think so..." Makoto racked his brain, but the name didn't sound familiar. And so it took him a few seconds more to realise what it was that Haru had just said, "he works at Future Fish?"

"Yeah," Haru admitted, and it seemed almost as if he'd forgotten who he was talking to, that they both had a connection to the publisher. "I met him at the launch party, he's a publicist - works with the media, and somehow he knew who I was..."

A cold heavy sensation settled in Makoto's stomach. It was true that he didn't know this guy, that it was entirely possible he was the biggest sweatheart in Tokyo, but for some reason he couldn't shake the doubt. Makoto didn't like the thought of someone holding power over Haru, that wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"At the time, I was a struggling artist like everyone else here, and actually I'd only really gone that night for the free food and drinks. But Shigino offered to sponsor me, and as long as I didn't exhibit my work he'd provide me with a steady income and give me a good price for any paintings I produced." By the look on Haru's face, he was desperately trying to justify the situation as he heard his own words. 

But it made Makoto angry. This whole thing was fucked up. It wasn't right to keep someone under lock and key, especially someone as talented as Haru. Haru was worth more than that.

"Expectations were high, but when Shigino came along and offered me the deal I'm still currently under, I decided to take him up on his offer. It seemed to relieve all the pressure I found myself under. Of course it's not ideal, but I have to think myself lucky that I can still paint freely, to do the thing I love."

Haru just looked so conflicted, his words were seemingly rational, but his body language screamed that he was still unable to accept his situation. Makoto's fingers itched to make contact; he wanted to be a comfort, he wanted to explain to Haru how amazing he was, how inspired and awestruck he'd been by him and how much happier he'd become since they'd met. He wanted Haru know that he was there for him, that lately all he'd been thinking about was how he wished they could be closer. 

Before Makoto really knew what he was doing he was leaning forward and brushing their lips together.

Up close Haru smelled like spice and vanilla, his skin was so soft and Makoto could feel his warmth and his breath against his own face. He began to kiss Haru, his lips feeling as delicate as little sakura blossoms that he was almost afraid of disturbing. . And for a long terrifying moment the artist stood completely shocked and motionless from his sudden surprise attack, before a flood of relief and elation washed through Makoto's bloodstream when Haru finally began to tentatively Return his kiss.

He was actually kissing Haru. It was as if the jumble of emotions he'd been feeling miraculously untangled themselves before him. Everything fell into place, this was what he'd wanted all along without him properly realising it. He was slowly licking his tongue into Haru's mouth. And Haru was kissing him back. Makoto's hands instinctively came up to encircle him and smoothed up from his waist to his shoulder blades. But oh god, it seemed to be a move too far and with a soft grunt Haru suddenly pulled away to bury his face in Makoto's chest.

"I thought you were straight." Haru said quietly into his shirt.

"I am... I was?" Makoto pondered as he tried to catch his breath, still holding the artist tightly in his arms.

"We shouldn't. You're confused" and the distress in Haru's voice sent a shudder of panic through Makoto's chest as Haru pushed against him in attempt to wriggle out of his grasp.

"No, Haru I -"

"Yo Nanase you up there?" Came Rin's brash tone as he called up from the bottom of the spiral staircase "it's about time we got this party started!" He shouted like a hooligan on match day, "also I think Shigino was looking for you" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"I have to go" and Haru took the opportunity to brake free of Makoto's embrace, disappearing from the rooftop before Makoto could even say a word.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

 

The temperature on the rooftop had dropped by just a fraction, and the evening breeze which had offered such a welcome freshness only minutes before now sent a hostile chill grazing across the back of Makoto's neck, sending an icy shiver rattling down his spine and the flicker of goose bumps down and over his arms. Either that, or he was currently in shock.

By sheer numb reflex he'd taken a seat on one of those disintegrating garden chairs that had acted as eavesdropping bystanders to their impromptu performance, his right hand steadily clutching at the plastic armrest, whilst the jittery fingers of his left continued to absently press and stroke across his swollen bottom lip. He couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

To say it was an out of body experience would surely be a misnomer; because he experienced, and remembered every single moment so vividly, and even his tingling nerves seemed to have retained their own souvenir. He remembered that he'd taken a gentle breath as their lips made contact, and that Haru in return had inhaled in quiet surprise just a split second after. He could still taste him, as he swallowed harshly and his eyes fluttered closed in remembrance, the subtle taste of green tea and warm spice now lingering sweetly on his tongue. And even if it ached, Makoto knew that he'd never forget that faint caress of Haru's lashes whisper soft against his skin as he finally began to kiss back.

His heart still palpitated in thuds of pure adrenaline, breathless and shaking Makoto felt as if time itself had stopped at the precise moment when his lips had met with Haru’s. He now existed in a strange kind of limbo, a little pocket of stasis outside of reality as his mind whirled with too much information, his stupefied body now switched to autopilot as priories were made and efforts were concentrated elsewhere. That had definitely just happened, he told himself. He was aware enough to know this wasn’t a lucid dream, although admittedly it felt like one. It had been as if their lips were electrified, but a soft and natural charge like static, rather than a harsh jolting shock delivered directly from the mains.

There was no contest; that had surely been the most thrilling exchange of his entire existence. It was true that Makoto had the tendency to overdramatize things, to feel them too deeply, his innately romantic imagination often getting carried away all on its own. But those wonderful few, too short seconds had deftly obliterated every one of his previous encounters, leaving only Nanase Haruka behind as the sole exhibit in his archive shelves. It was as if an intense solar flare or mass power surge had fried his circuits. And it was wonderful.

But whilst he'd felt it deeply, he hadn't expected it, any more than Haru had seemed to. It was almost as if all along his mind had been secretly collecting disparate fragments of thought, when suddenly the final cog had fallen into place and illuminated the whole, setting his body into motion. How had he been so stupid? How had he ever missed it? Because it was obvious, to an embarrassing degree. He was in love with Haru.

It all made sense now; the jealousy, the pining, the feeling of overriding contentment when he was simply in the artists presence. It felt as if he’d been playing a game of consequences on his own, and here the paper had unfolded to reveal the bigger picture one line at a time, and only now did he realise what it all meant.

Honestly though, it was a little scary. Not because Haru was a guy, although he’d be lying if he said that the thought hadn’t quietly joined the back of the queue, but it was just how sudden it had all descended on him, and how intense his new feelings seemed to be. The nearest thing he could think of was probably ‘love at first sight’ regardless of how clichéd that sounded, but this wasn’t the first time they’d met, and now Makoto could see that this had been building for a while, even if he had yet to understand it before.

Haru. He couldn’t help but break out in a dopey smile as he soundlessly uttered his name, warm breath ghosting over his fingertips where they still lingered distractedly at his parted lips. He was pleased, thrilled even, that he’d finally figured it out. He’d known he wanted more from Haru, that he wanted to be an important person to him, that he’d wanted to see every side of him, to know everything about him. But it had taken him until now to realise what that really meant. He was in love with him, and he wanted to scoop him up, to kiss him again.

It was only then that Makoto remembered that he was very much alone. Gradually, his eyes grew wide in alarm and his hand moved to cover his mouth completely; Haru wasn't there with him, and he hadn’t just left, he’d run away.

Makoto’s fretful gaze drifted to one of the bottles of water, to where the flimsy plastic container had fallen unnoticed from the ledge and its remaining contents had spilled out in little dark rivulets across the concrete floor, and it only served to highlight his own inept clumsiness. Shit. His mind swiftly dropped from the dreamy clouds he'd been floating on, and his stomach almost lurched as he plummeted back to reality, shifting and fidgeting where he sat as he realised that he may have just fucked it all up.

"Shit," he whispered into his palm, and then he followed with a growing string of curse words, each expletive slightly louder and further along the periodic table of swearing as he continued, his hand sweeping up to grasp at a fistful of hair. And he thought he was stupid before. He may have just made the dumbest mistake of his life.

He knew Haru didn't talk much. Fuck, that was probably the most he'd heard him speak since they'd met. He could tell at the time that Haru wasn't used to talking about his past in that way either, that he'd trusted Makoto to listen and not to judge him. And what had he done in return? No sooner had Haru finished his sentence and Makoto had put the moves on him. Oh god, he was that guy - that guy who waited until someone was vulnerable before swooping in and catching them off guard.

But he'd just been so happy, so happy to be trusted by Haru, so happy to hear Haru talk about himself. And he'd just looked so pretty, Makoto could admit that now without feeling weird, those fragile cobalt eyes and his boyish frame, his thick black lashes and the way he'd kept looking down at his hands. Makoto was kissing him before he'd even thought it through, and now Haru was gone, and he was left alone with just that disgustingly beautiful sunset.

And for Christ's sake - what the fuck was he still doing up there on the roof.

Makoto ducked down through the hatch and took the spiral staircase with nauseating speed, his fancy shoes clattering on the metal treads and echoing rolls of thunder down into the hallway, his right hand squeaked along the banister as he scarcely steadied his gathering momentum. Luckily the elevator was only a few floors below and he was on board before his head had even stopped spinning, closing the gate and wrenching at the crank handle impatiently. He'd never once wished for the thing to go faster, but now he was so frustrated with its aged doddering that he barely stopped himself from bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet in an attempt to make the seven storey decent hurry up.

A lump formed in Makoto's throat as he resigned to lean against the solid rear wall, his head tilted back a little and his eyes focused upwards in order that he might will away any errant tears that threatened to spill. He wondered what on earth he was going to say to Haru when he caught up with him. The last thing Haru had said was that Makoto was _confused_ , and whilst it was true he'd just spent the last few minutes in a daze, he was so sure about his feelings now that it hurt.

And it hurt that at this very moment Haru was somewhere under the impression that when he'd kissed him he'd just been confused, or experimenting, or that he'd done it on a mere whim. But he'd meant it. He'd meant it so much that his veins were practically thrumming to get back to him, to make sure that he completely understood.

The exhibition was in full swing by the time Makoto walked out onto the gallery floor, it'd since filled up with fashionable guests that babbled happily and murmured their critiques, alongside buoyant parading artists circulating the now dimly lit space, all of them apparently adhering to a variety of different dress codes. His eyes swept from face to face as he searched for Haru, almost mirroring the way in which he’d arrived that very afternoon. But now, even though his earlier confidence had been shaken, his determination was only getting stronger, as he scrutinised every alcove and corner of the room, his nails pressing into his palms in an attempt to calm himself down. He really wanted to just call out for Haru, but that would only result in him making a scene, which probably wouldn’t do either of them any favours.

“Mako-chan! Ma-ko-chan, come have a djrink withusss!” came a familiar chirpy voice, slurring somewhere in his periphery. And it took Makoto a couple more seconds than was strictly polite to look down from scouring the crowd, to regard the small blond who’d sidled up beside him. Makoto only managed a blank look in return for the tipsy grin he received.

“Na-nagisa, I think you need to slow down,” a second, more sober voice called, the owner of which arrived shortly after, his expression exasperated but slightly undermined by the fact that he appeared to be carrying two large glasses of red wine, one in each hand.

"No, Rei look," and Nagisa beckoned him over, even though he was already standing right next to him. "Rei-chan, look who iffound... Is Mako-chan!" And he felt the need to point the author out as he beamed at them both, "ah, thankss very much" he intoned as he relieved his companion of one of those excessively filled glasses.

"Nagisa..." Rei groaned, before bowing slightly in Makoto's direction. "Please excuse his behaviour, we've only been here fifteen minutes and he's already like this," and he took a generous gulp of his own free wine. "Sometimes, it's as if he doesn't care about the art at all..." He trailed off, watching as the blond descended on a small tray of canapés, his own spectacles slightly skewed from the motion of knocking back his drink.

Makoto dismissed the apology with a vague wave of his hand, his eyes having already gone back to scanning the busy room. He didn't want to come across as being rude, but right now he had more pressing matters to contend with, like the fact that Haru was currently nowhere to be seen. He reasoned that Ryuugazaki-san would probably have his hands full in any case.

“Ooh thanks big brother,” a female voice from behind him sang, and as Makoto turned he saw that his agent had just disembarked from the elevator with Rin in tow. She was wearing an elegant black cocktail dress with bright fuchsia strappy heels, her hair was coiffured in a knot at the nape of her neck and as she walked she was busy patting down the flyaway strands with her immaculately manicured fingers. “I totally forgot to buy hairspray - I’m so glad you had some upstairs.”

“Hey!” Rin protested through gritted teeth, “I only use it for setting pencil blueprints, so don’t go giving people the wrong idea” he scowled, and as if completely unfazed by that grouchy disposition his sister tugged lightly at the cherry-red mane which fell loosely around his features, but which had evidently been styled nonetheless.

“Whatever,” she smirked, and they stared each other down like they were suddenly back in middle school.

“Matsuoka-san,” Makoto's ever present manners forced a greeting complete with little robotic bow, and Rin predictably snorted at the formal title, rolling his eyes behind her back.

“Aha, Kou is just fine,” she smiled warmly “we’re at a party after all” and with a shooing motion she wordlessly directed her brother over towards the refreshment table as if to prove her point. And to his credit Rin only grumbled a little as he was sent to fetch her a drink, because for all his bravado it was painfully clear that he was firmly under his little sister's thumb. “How’s the book coming along?” she asked casually “you know the editor’s really keen to see a final draft” and Makoto could tell she was subtly trying to gauge his reaction.

“Mn, yeah its fine,” he replied a dash too indifferently, still a little unready for proper conversation or socialising of any kind. “Um, have you seen Haru?” and Gou must’ve recognised the earnest mix of hope and panic in his eyes, because she shook her head gently with concern as she was handed her drink, offering Rin a small appreciative smile for his efforts before he left.

“No I haven’t, sorry” she conceded, “but I’m sure he’s around here somewhere – he’s probably just hiding from all these people” she half joked. But Makoto didn’t laugh, in fact he didn’t appear to take it very well at all if the apologetic look from Gou was anything to go by, not considering there was a very high possibility that it was Makoto himself that Haru was hiding from.

“He’s avoiding me…” Makoto accidentally whined out loud, and suddenly the need to keep searching was causing him to slightly hyperventilate.

“Hey,” Gou said soothingly, stepping closer and looking up into his face. And if she was about to ask him if he was ok, it was almost certainly going to make him cry. But thankfully she merely studied him thoughtfully, Gou really was good at handling people, it was probably why she was so successful. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you,” she began rather conspiratorially, “but Haru never actually wanted to illustrate books.”

“Huh?” and Makoto looked at her like a kicked puppy, because if that was supposed to make him feel better –

“I always send a partial his way when we’re looking for an artist, he’s been a good friend to Rin, not to mention he’s ridiculously talented. But he always ignores them” and she smiled a little triumphantly. “Yours was the first Haru ever replied to.”

Makoto didn’t think he could handle any more revelations. On any other day that little piece of information would've made him grin like an idiot, but hearing that now only made his current situation that much more desperate.

“You looking for Nanase?” Rin interrupted obliviously, having given up on trying to corral Nagisa away from his sculptures. He offered Makoto the bottle of weak beer he’d snagged from refreshments, but when the author only vacantly shook his head, he shrugged and claimed it with a small sip for himself. And Makoto was too dazed to even be embarrassed about ever having resented him. “He’s over there,” Rin pointed the neck of the bottle towards the other end of the room.

Makoto pivoted round just in time to see Haru walking in through the entrance way, and on sight his chest constricted so suddenly that it seemed to knock the very breath from his lungs. But before he could take a single step Makoto faltered, as he noticed the artist dutifully gesture to the person that followed, directing him over to a rail of fancy coats.

The man was tall - taller than Haru, probably the same height as himself, Makoto reasoned with an odd sense of detachment as his mouth went dry. He was younger than he'd expected and definitely striking in appearance, most notably his expensively cut hairstyle that was a strange shade of sickly pink, which in itself did little to dispel the sinister persona that the slightly unsettled author may or may not have been projecting. Haru took his jacket for him, threading it onto a hanger and placing it onto the rail, all the while the other man continued to chatter away through what seemed to be a rather one sided conversation. He was wearing a pair of plain black trousers and a white cotton dress shirt, no tie and the top few buttons undone. They were obviously designer, the simple quality of his attire being clear enough to be seen even from across the room. Makoto took it for arrogance.

He stood there, watching Haru act as host to that man, that man who looked and acted like a playboy, and he could actually feel the acrimony begin to well up inside him, twisting his gut and setting his jaw. He felt Rin's presence arrive at his side, and they silently watched over Haru and his contemptible guest unflinchingly, the atmosphere heavy with the protective concern of a territorial pack.

"That's him isn't it? That's Shigino."

"Mhn," Rin replied gruffly, taking a swig from his beer but keeping his sharp crimson eyes darkly levelled. "That's him."

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

 

Makoto's feet were in motion before he'd even considered the consequences. He had no idea what he was doing; confrontation had never really been his style, but right now there was more than enough adrenaline and concentrated yearning coursing through his veins to temporarily override his natural preference for civility. For the first time in his life it seemed, he was going to have to fight for what he wanted.

He cut a calculated path through the stifling crowd with his eyes trained intently on his target, the faceless people around him reduced to mere obstacles and background noise as he approached the two men in the gallery foyer. Shigino seemed to be still talking at Haru, the artist having his back to the room whilst he finished stowing his guest's designer jacket, and then obediently proceeded to furnish him with a glossy printed catalogue containing the details of that evenings show. Apparently though, Makoto must've looked rather intense as he advanced on the pair like a sharply dressed heatseeking missile, because to his irritation it was Shigino who noticed him first, an amused little grin subtly sliding into place over his otherwise urbane expression.

"Hello there," Shigino addressed him genially with a curious quirk of his head, "I'm afraid if you're about to make a pitch - or more likely trash me for a bad review, i'm currently off duty right now. But..." He smiled, and then looked over Makoto's shoulder "I'm sure if you'd like to talk things through with Matsuoka-san over there, she'll be more than happy to take your details" and he squinted somewhat insincerely, waving a quick greeting to his colleague who was no doubt watching over them following Makoto's rather sudden departure.

"I..." Makoto bristled, and Haru angled his head to spare him the quickest of unreadable glances, but still the artist remained stubbornly turned away from him. "Haru, can we talk? Please?"

"Ah, so he's one of _your_ fanboys is he?" Shigino chuckled, "come now Haruka, don't be so mean to your public" and he playfully nudged Haru on the chin with an admonishing tap of his knuckle. Makoto gritted his teeth, but really it was the show of casual familiarity that was more galling than those idle words could ever have been.

"This is Tachibana Makoto," Haru sighed in defeat, finally moving his body around to include the author, though resolutely stopping short of actually looking at him. "I'm illustrating his book" he stated in a way that seemed a little too simplified for Makoto's liking.

This was bad. When he'd thought that Makoto was uncomfortable with the idea of him being gay, the hurt and disappointment had just been so clearly visible across Haru's face, but here in this moment Makoto was unable read him at all. It wasn't that he wanted Haru to be upset with him, quite the contrary, but any emotion was preferable to being ignored like this. There wasn't even any sign of anger or resentment, and besides the total lack of willingness to meet his eye, one might be forgiven for thinking that this was simply a normal everyday working relationship between two casual acquaintances. It made Makoto want to throw up.

“I See, yes I’d heard you were working on something with us” Shigino mused lightly, directing his attention towards a still obstinately passive Haru, “It’s the little children’s book if I remember correctly, something about a couple of kids who live by the ocean yeah?” And Makoto thought his smile looked a little condescending. “Well then Tachibana Makoto, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Shigino Kisumi – and no, before you ask that’s not an invitation” he joked, carelessly folding the brochure under one arm to extend his right hand.

And god but Makoto didn’t want to shake his hand. He didn’t want to be civil at all, he wanted to haul the artist over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and take him away. But not only did the pressure of social convention make it impossible for him to snub the greeting - let alone forcibly abduct Haru from a room full of people, there was also no getting away from the fact that it seemed this Shigino Kisumi happened to be a powerful player within the literary industry, within his own publisher no less.

“Nice to meet you” Makoto mumbled, shaking his hand and hating himself for doing so.

"Well, I hope Haruka's been taking good care of you," Shigino smiled as he slid his hands into his pockets "I must admit he's not exactly renowned for his people skills" and he spoke in such a way that almost made it seem as if Haru wasn't in fact standing right next to them, or even worse that he was some kind of pet. Makoto took a sideways glance to gauge his reaction, but predictably the artist remained silently staring off into the distance, obviously unfazed and probably wishing he actually was somewhere else. "So how long is it since you've been on our books... A month or so?" Shigino answered his own question, "I bet you'll probably be finishing up pretty soon, we should set up a meeting to discuss post production - I'll get my PA to give you a call."

"Sure" Makoto drawled, letting a little too much venom slip into his tone. And then after that, a pause descended. It seemed as if they'd used up the extent of their small talk, it was awkward, and Makoto didn't really care to alleviate the situation by thinking of something to say.

Well now that was a lie. The part about having to think of something at least, because there was just so much he wanted to say to this bastard, and it was all on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to lay into him about his attitude, his self-interested greed, his short sightedness, he might even go to town on that ridiculous dye job. This wasn't him, Makoto had never wanted to give someone a piece of his mind so much as he did in that instant, and it was almost scary the sense of pleasure and satisfaction he got from imaging letting it all tumble freely from his mouth.

"I'll go get you that drink" Haru interjected blandly, possibly in the nick of time.

"Ah ah ah," Shigino scolded, pushing the now thoroughly ruffled catalogue into Haru's chest so he had no choice but to hold onto it "now don't get me wrong, I do love how you dote on me sometimes Haruka, but I'm more than capable of fetching my own drink" he teased indignantly. "And besides, it looks like Tachibana-kun here would like a word with you. Geeze, learn to read people..." And he patted Haru on the head before slinking off into the crowd.

He left only silence in his wake, Makoto staring at Haru, Haru staring anywhere else. The atmosphere was coiled and tense, and Makoto could hear the chaotic rhythm of his own pulse hammering away in his ears, the rest of his body feeling stilted and numb. This had been what he'd wanted - to get Haru on his own, but now he was right here in front of him he was so afraid of saying the wrong thing that every single combination of words just fell flat on his tongue. It was if a beam of light were being shone in his eyes, rendering him speechless and dazed.

"Tch," Haru clicked softly, throwing the catalogue down on a nearby table and making to walk away.

"Wait!" Makoto pleaded, grabbing hold of Haru's wrist to urge him to stay. The artist paused, turning back round to regard the large insistent hand that was currently gripping his forearm, Makoto looked too, almost as surprised as Haru. "I mean... Please, we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about" Haru monotoned, slipping his arm free.

"Look I know I've upset you, I know you're angry with me-"

" _I'm not angry_ " Haru hissed back, rather angrily. A few of the guests who were nearest the foyer spared them a quick glance, but when neither of them continued, thankfully their curiosity waned and the unwanted audience returned to their own conversations. Makoto rubbed at his temples, this wasn't going as smoothly as he'd originally hoped.

"Haru-"

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Haru reproached, continuing to fail at eye contact.

"I... Well of course I don't!" Makoto retorted, and they were now arguing in the hushed tones akin to those used by disagreeing parents in front of their children. "It wasn't as if I planned it, it all just happened so quickly-"

"Well then," Haru cut him off again "you need to go figure yourself out. I think its best if we do things through the office from now on - I've got all I need to finish the drawings, so I'll send them over to Kou when I'm done." And he was gently nodding his head, as if reaffirming the plan in his own mind.

"What the hell Haru?!" Makoto didn't know wether to be shocked, afraid or offended "Seriously? That's not... avoiding the issue isn't going to..." and against his better judgement, "you kissed me back too you know" and the last part was spat in a hushed whisper, sounding a little more accusatory than Makoto had intended.

Haru only scoffed, looking at him properly for the first time in what seemed like days, but Makoto felt a sharp pain slice across his chest when he saw that those ordinarily beautiful eyes were filled with something suspiciously close to contempt.

"Wow, you two are simply hilarious" Oh great, Shigino was back. "Now why don't we put our creative differences aside for tonight and enjoy the party eh? Here," and he held a large glass of white wine out to Haru "I know you don't normally drink at these things but-" Haru took the offering and all but downed it in one, Shigino grinning approvingly as he watched him swallow the alcohol down and then took back the empty glass when it was finished. "Good work Haruka" he praised, before his eyes fell on Makoto, his head tilting to one side. "Um, I wasn't sure what you'd like so..."

But Makoto waved whatever he had to say away, his concentration now fully on Haru. He'd gone back to staring purposefully at the floor, his arms folded loosely across his grey cashmere sweater and a faint blush, no doubt from the wine, already lightly dusting his cheekbones. Makoto inwardly chastised himself for thinking he looked kind of hot.

"Ok then," Shigino began cheerily "I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal Haruka away for a little while," and he put his arm around his shoulder, to which the artist didn't even flinch. "We've got a few business related things we need to talk through, but" he smiled almost genuinely "it's been nice to meet you Tachibana-kun, maybe we'll catch that drink later - oh, and I'll have my PA give you a call."

And like a complete moron, Makoto let them go. He was torn between the idea of forcing Haru to see things his way, to pin him down and make him listen, or to let Haru have some space, to calm himself down and see if he couldn't reason with him more coherently. But it was only as he watched Shigino guide Haru through the crowd, until they were obscured by the various oblivious groups of socialising people, that Makoto realised that he still hadn't actually _told_ him. He'd been so preoccupied with trying to get Haru to stay, to listen to him in the first place, that he'd not even got to the part he'd been so desperate to talk about. Haru still didn't know that he'd meant it, was happy he'd done it, that he loved him.

Makoto set out to follow them back across the gallery floor, and apparently people had gotten rather used to the to-ing and fro-ing, because most of them noticed him coming and helpfully stepped out of the way, squeezing in tighter to their circle of friends as he passed. Nonetheless, by the time he reached the other end of the room he could already see the elevator door being pulled across, and its rickety industrial mechanisms being gradually set into motion.

He could only watch as the platform lifted up, taking Haru and Shigino away to the upper floors, the latter busy chattering enthusiastically to the artist whose mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely. He knew he'd probably be crossing a line by crashing their business meeting, but every cell of Makoto's body was screaming at him to go after them. He stumbled forward, stretching out his hand to pull at the lever that would call the elevator back down to the ground floor, but just before he made contact someone else's hand came up to rest on it instead.

"That probably ain't a good idea" Rin said calmly, and Makoto faltered, switching between the lever and Rin's serious ruby tinged eyes. "Here," he offered him a beer with his free hand, and when Makoto didn't automatically accept it he grumbled under his breath and shoved it into his still outstretched palm "just take it."

"...why-"

"Let's go drink these outside" Rin suggested, levelling him with a meaningful look as he picked his own bottle from a ledge. Makoto took one last look up the empty elevator shaft, not really feeling any better than when he'd first come down from the roof, and as he slowly turned to walk away he barely even noticed as Rin planted a small consolatory pat on his back.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I'm sorry this took me so long to update - I just couldn't get back in the zone for some reason. Hopefully next chapter won't be so delayed, it weighs me down too much!

 

 

 

Rin crouched down and took a seat on the narrowly paved steps just outside of the studio entrance, leaning forward he casually rested his forearms across his bent knees, absently swilling the insipid beer around in its bottle before taking a sip. Whoever had been in charge of supplying the drinks had evidently opted for quantity over quality, it was probably the cheapest beer-like substance available and Rin grimaced slightly as he swallowed, promptly setting it down on the slightly uneven step below him.

“Are you gonna sit down or what?” he sighed, not even turning around to address the author who was still speechlessly hovering somewhere behind.

“Uh, sorry” Makoto mumbled, shuffling as he manoeuvred to sit next to him. He hadn’t exactly been waiting for an invitation; it was more that he’d been feeling kind of disorientated. He was still distinctly preoccupied and couldn’t get that wholly lamentable image of Haru’s eyes, brimming with hostility out of his brain.

Sure, when asked, most people would probably agree that it was never a nice feeling to have someone mad at them - a fairly reasonable trait of human nature. But Makoto was definitely at the excessively uneasy end of the sliding scale, perhaps being a little more sensitive than the average person in that respect, because admittedly he'd always been a people pleaser. He hated conflict, even between others, and although he was by no means a pushover he tried to avoid any major confrontations in favour of more measured approaches, with carefully phrased words and gentle coercion. And that was why his fuck-up with Haru had hit him so hard, usually he did everything he could to maintain equilibrium. Today though, he’d stirred up all kinds of mess for himself _and_ for Haru, and it was unsettling to be the one instigating friction for once. In fact his hands were still visibly tremoring, specifically the hand he'd planted on that slim but unyielding wrist in a frantic attempt to keep Haru close.

Once he’d finally settled on the step, Makoto found that the makeshift perch was a little bit cold but not too uncomfortable, albeit admittedly he probably wouldn’t have registered it even if it was. He'd sat down alongside Rin, but although he was just a fraction taller than the sculptor, Makoto's slumped and rather downbeat posture meant that they were actually positioned more like at eye level with each other. Instinctively though, neither of them decided to implement it, and instead their focus drifted out towards the empty street.

In preparation for the event someone had obviously taken a brush to the steps and the patchy unlevelled pavement directly out front, because there were still the odd little tell-tale piles of crispy leaves and desiccated pine needles left behind from the recent withering heat of summer. Makoto stared senselessly out into the road, and apart from the constant hum of unremittingly jovial voices emanating from inside the building, the neighbourhood seemed comparatively subdued. Indeed there were only the faint muffled sounds of traffic and the swishing of the various trees to act as a backdrop to the early evening street, softly lit as it was by the orange hued glow of the overhead lampposts.

“He’s complicated,” Rin broke the silence cryptically, and he carelessly picked at a streak of what looked like tinted wood varnish that had dried on the back of his hand. “But I’m probably the last person you want to hear from,” he admitted as he rested his chin in one hand and looked over at the author, and Makoto could feel those sharp appraising eyes on the profile of his face as they scanned for some sort of reaction.

Makoto exhaled a defeated breath as he occupied himself with peeling the silver foil label from his untouched beer, frustration leaching into his body language as he failed at sitting still. His haunted thought track seemed to be permanently stuck on shuffle, but still he managed a tiny weak smile, Makoto could tell that Rin was only trying to help.

“Want to talk about it?” the sculptor prompted, and it almost made Makoto laugh, because within that gentle question he recognised his own ‘big brother’ tone being spoken back to him.

“Ugh… I’ve messed up” he revealed somewhat redundantly, scrubbing his face with his hands.

“Haru’s a lot of things;” Rin began after a thoughtful pause “he’s stubborn, pig-headed, he’s snarky and he can be so fucking obtuse sometimes. He eats way too much fish for a human and he can’t keep time for shit. In fact he’s got this really irritating habit of-” however Rin stopped short when he felt Makoto wearily peek at him through his fingers. “But… although he can be kind of a jerk, he’s actually pretty forgiving.”

“I think maybe I crossed a line” Makoto disagreed, shaking his head as he let his hands fall dejectedly into his lap.

“Oh, How so?” Rin enquired, arching a curious brow.

“I… kissed him” he replied quietly, feeling the embarrassment instantly colouring his face.

“O-okay,” Rin hesitated, trying and failing to keep the awkward inflection from his voice. “That’s… I thought you were straight?” but when he heard Makoto’s low painful groan he must’ve regretted his choice of words, because Rin shifted in his seat to look at him, his palms lifting up in apology. “I mean, it’s cool… you know me and Haru used to-” and he winced again, before shutting his mouth completely lest any more inappropriate comments slipped out.

“Oh god,” Makoto laughed pitifully “I just don’t know what’s gotten into me, I feel like I’m going insane. And now Haru won’t even talk to me” he added, his countenance furrowed with worry.

“Nah,” Rin dismissed easily “you probably just spooked him out. Give the guy some time to come round, like I said, Haru’s surprisingly forgiving.”

“He didn’t forgive you - you guys still broke up” Makoto said rather petulantly, before immediately blanching with shame. “S-sorry, that was a shitty thing to say…”

“S’fine,” Rin shrugged “I guess you’re right, we did break up. But what makes you think it was my fault?” he groused, and Makoto exhaled a humorous chuckle in relief. “I take it Haru didn’t tell you what happened with us?” Makoto shook his head “figures,” Rin tutted “he’s never been that great at talking about himself.”

“Earlier…Haru spoke about what happened with his parents,” Makoto’s tone grew sombre.

“Yeah, they really did a number on him didn't they?" Rin mused rhetorically, and then he twisted his half empty beer around on the step, the green glass bottle creating a faint gritty noise as it rotated. "I still don’t think he’s gotten over that.”

“He also talked a about how he ended up coming to Tokyo, and then that he worked for a guy named Minato.”

“Really?” Rin looked somewhat surprised, “huh, I haven’t heard him talk about the old man in a long time.” But that admission only seemed to exacerbate Makoto's steadily sinking heart.

"Haru only said that it didn't work out between you two," Makoto glanced at him a little apologetically, before adding sincerely "but he did say that he's glad to have met you" and he didn't miss the wave of surprise that briefly flashed across Rin's previously relaxed expression.

"Damn straight," He covered it well. "If it wasn't for me, the only form of socialising Haru would ever do in this city is down at the central fish market - and even then it'd be a bunch of fucking housewives. Seriously, I don't know what it is with him and middle-aged women, but I've actually seen them _swarm_ him before" and he laughed to himself as he recalled some evidently absurd mental imagery. "But," he shot a glance at Makoto, his playful grin subtly dropping away "I guess it wouldn't hurt to fill you in on a few details."

Makoto hugged his knees a little tighter to his chest, he almost didn't want to know, but perhaps it might help him understand a bit more of what Haru must be thinking. He only wished he was in a position to hear it from the man himself, instead of from the Ex, who also happened to be trying to console him after a rather disastrous rejection.

"I met Haru at our first-year shodo class," Rin began "and as much as I totally appreciate traditional art forms and stuff now, I guess I was probably a little too hotheaded for it back then; I poured so much obsessive energy into getting the brush strokes just right, that everything I produced ended up looking sort of contrived and stilted. But god, even as a beginner Haru was just so effortlessly good at it, it kinda pissed me off" he pouted.

Makoto's eyes glazed over as he accidentally imagined the sight of Haru skilfully practicing calligraphy, his demure wrist leading the ink brush in smooth sweeps along the paper - he also just happened to be dressed in an elegantly draped black yukata, which probably wasn't even necessary for an art school beginners class, but apparently it seemed Makoto couldn't help himself.

"Anyway, we got to talking - or more like I started talking at him," Rin continued, with an ever so slightly irritated expression marring his features. "If you think he's quiet now, back then he was so damn insular that he barely even spoke. At first I thought he was a total stuck up brat, all silent and superior, because it wasn't just me - he was like that with everyone. Lucky for him though, I'm the sorta person who doesn't let that shit lie, I just kept hounding the guy until he acknowledged me" and Rin went back to rotating the beer bottle. "I guess in retrospect, he was still massively torn up about his parents and all that crap he had to go through just to get himself to where he was, so it's not all that surprising he found it hard to relate. Haru probably likes to think we became friends because he just gave up trying to get rid of me, but really, I think it just took him a while to realise that I wasn't going anywhere" and Rin afforded Makoto a meaningful look that he found rather difficult to decipher.

"So when did you..."

"It wasn't until the summer break of our first year, neither of us were going home for the holiday so we ended up just stooging around the city for a couple of months. We spent a lot of time together; exploring, working, playing video games, and I suppose one thing led to another" and now it was Rin's turn to look awkward and embarrassed. "We had an off and on type thing all the way through and then for a few years after college, there were times when we'd have these epic bust ups and not talk for ages, but for what ever reason we always seemed to make up in the end."

The fleeting burst of hope that filled Makoto's chest was almost enough to make him tear up, he didn't have the same amount of history with the artist, but was it possible that Haru might also eventually forgive him too?

"Then one day," Rin began with resignation in his tone "we both just kind of stopped. It was weird, I think we both came to the same conclusion that we were actually just better off as friends, ya know?" He smirked to himself a little "we sure as hell don't argue as much as we used to, although he still makes me want to punch him sometimes."

Makoto huffed out a quiet laugh, Rin truly was a nice guy.

"I suppose that wasn't really what you were hoping for," the sculptor turned his attention back to Makoto, his sharp teeth exposed in a teasing grin. "I bet you wanted to hear something about how I cheated on Haru and betrayed him, that he threw me out and how he's never really forgiven me huh?"

"N-no, not at all!" Makoto objected earnestly "I'm glad you two can still be friends. It's nice." He added, somewhat indignantly.

Both of Rin's angular eyebrows lifted in surprise as he looked Makoto over, before he smiled fondly and nudged the author in the side with his elbow "chill out, I was joking" he drawled humorously.

"Oh" and Makoto conceded a small smile of his own.

"As for you," Rin continued to smirk "well you're just full of surprises ain'cha?"

"What do you mean by that?" Makoto mumbled sheepishly, his fragile smile slipping.

"When I first met you, in the studio and then again in the park, I remember thinking 'yup, this guys got it bad for Nanase' seriously it was so obvious" and he smugly took in Makoto's expression as the author's jaw fell open aghast. "But then," Rin's tone grew quizzical "then in the pub you said something about an old girlfriend, and then I thought maybe I'd got it wrong, maybe it really was just all about art and collaboration with you two, I mean don't think I didn't notice those quiet little sessions you have in his studio. The stench of harmony wafting across the corridor was almost sickening" he nudged Makoto in the ribs again, the latter's jaw finally drifting shut as he was jostled.

"You... You didn't get it wrong" Makoto stated glumly "of course, we do - did - work together well, I think we kind of understand each other, artistically speaking. But you're right, for me at least it goes quite a bit deeper than that, because yeah I really care about him. But, I never got the chance to tell Haru properly, he thinks I'm just confused," Makoto said despondently "he said I need to go figure myself out."

"Maybe he's right" Rin mused, and he paused when he felt Makoto's eyes fix on him accusingly, "look just hear me out, I'm not gonna sit here and tell you what you're feeling - but try to think of it from Haru's point of view, maybe you should take some time to consider this properly. The thing you have to realise about Haru is, in some respects, I think deep down he still believes that he fucked his own life up by being gay, like he had a choice and it's his fault his dumbass parents disowned him or something. Its a touchy subject as you might imagine, and I don't think he'd take it lightly if he thought you were just messing around. Add to that his ridiculous aversion to any kind of change, and well..."

Makoto fell silent, he'd never connected the dots like that before, like maybe he'd struck a raw nerve with Haru, and that was the reason for that aggravated reaction he'd unintentionally provoked.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think maybe you got under his skin too," and suddenly Makoto's interest was piqued once again "I mean, I don't wanna put words in his mouth or anything, but he's kept you around for this long at least. And it may not seem like much of a privilege, but Haru let you crash on his lumpy old couch, coming from him that's praise indeed - it took me years before he stopped trying to throw me out of his place" Rin chuckled. "But seriously, if I know Haru he's probably already convinced himself that you were just curious about kissing a guy, so I suggest you get your own feelings sorted before you talk to him again. Going in all guns blazing only makes things worse, take it from me" he assured knowingly. "No, if you wanna win this one, you gotta cover all your bases, you need to have an answer ready for any excuse he might give you. Don't leave it too long, but you both need some time to cool off" and with that last piece of sage advice Rin stood, retrieving his beer and taking one last sip before turning to walk back inside the building.

"Rin..." Makoto called over his shoulder, turning in his seat when he sensed that the sculptor had swivelled back round on his heels. "About Shigino-"

"Ah, now you can leave me out on that one" he said plainly. "I've tried, but he doesn't want to hear it from me. Besides, Haru ain't my problem anymore" and he winked before continuing on to the entrance way, waving a farewell behind him as he disappeared through the door.

Makoto was left alone, sitting quietly on the step as he processed all of the information and advice that Rin had given him, maybe he did need to take some time to think. After a few silent minutes had passed he picked himself up too, placing the beer that Rin had given him out of the way of the path on a nearby wall. He felt a little guilty for littering, but if he allowed himself to go back into the building to dispose of it, he might just lose all of his resolve and end up chasing after Haru again. Instead he raised his line of sight up the concrete elevation, counting the windows until he found the third floor. There was no figure at the window, at the spot he knew the artist liked to stand to observe the passing of life below, and he tried his best not to imagine how he might currently be spending his time.

"See you soon Haru" he said aloud to the breeze, before turning and walking away.

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

 

At first it'd been one arduously sullen week, then ten long days, and now it was over a fortnight since Makoto had last seen Haru in person.

He'd taken Rin's informed advice and initially given Haru his space, even though it killed him to sit back and do nothing, the slow burning torture of wanting so much to reach out, but knowing it would likely do more harm than good and potentially drive him even further away.

Although having resolved to keep his distance, nonetheless on several occasions Makoto had attempted to compose a heartfelt letter, but despite the fact that he now claimed to make his living from the wrangling of words, his usually accommodating notepaper had persisted in remaining stubbornly blank. He sat dazed with it open on his small kitchen table, the crisp lined surface staring dispassionately back at him as each consecutive page remained chaste and unblemished, other than the occasional variant greeting left hanging on the top line as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to use a pen. He'd had writers block before, had known what it was like to lose motivation or get distracted by real life events or even just the internet, but this strung-out sensation was on a whole different level. It felt as if there was a sprawling traffic jam diverging in his head, as if all of his congested thoughts were vying for position and trying to get out at once, becoming gridlocked and distorted as he struggled for coherency.

In the end he’d simply scrawled his phone number and personal email onto the thin yellow-tinted stationary that he was supposed to be using to finalize his manuscript, before tearing it out of the pad and then as an afterthought quickly adding his street address too.

Communication had never really been an issue for them before, albeit they’d only actually known each other for a little under two months, but most of that time had been spent quietly hauled up together in Haru’s studio. Thinking about it, Makoto had never even seen him with a phone let alone a computer, and so realistically his means of contacting the artist other than officially through his publisher were looking fairly limited. Of course, Makoto had been to Haru’s apartment before, and there was always Studio Free, but each time he’d mustered up enough resolve to make a visit there'd been no answer at either location – the faceless intercom at his place buzzed statically with no reply and the studio remained locked up tight as if abandoned. In the end Makoto had forlornly resorted to just slipping his contact details under the door.

He'd thought about swinging by the art shop or the Aussie bar round the corner, or in fact any number of places that Haru might possibly frequent, places that were helpfully outlined and labelled up on that neatly inked map he'd drawn for him all those weeks ago, and which Makoto had predictably held on to. But the thought of going to Matilda's to ask Rin for more help was not particularly appealing, and involving his neighbour Momo-kun seemed like it could get really awkward really quickly too. He didn't want to put anyone in an uncomfortable situation, but he also got the feeling that if Haru somehow learned of his methods there was a chance he might take it the wrong way, the last thing he wanted to do was irritate him even more or come across like some kind of creepy stalker.

What made the whole thing worse though was that now Makoto felt as if he had so much more time on his hands compared to the last few weeks with Haru. One might have imagined he'd be rushed off his feet during the run up to his very first book finally getting finished, but if he managed any writing at all it was only for the few remaining corrections and revisions left before the process would be taken out of his hands completely. And unfortunately it proved only meager distraction, as his mind crashed and clambered through its own rugged landscape of perverse speculation and hopelessly flawed logic.

If he was being honest with himself he was moping, padding around his apartment in sweats and faded old tshirts, his neglected hair molded in wild sandy peaks like a feral crop of windswept barley. He ventured outside every couple of days, taking the short walk a few streets over to the twenty four hour Lawson's to buy trashy food and sugary drinks, but for the most part he remained brooding in his melancholic bubble, his sanity gradually dripping away like tiny grains of hourglass sand. Most of all, Makoto simply missed Haru; his dry humor and elusive secret smiles, that soothing stillness he just seemed to emanate without even being aware, he just missed spending time with him.

This creeping sense of apathy was starting to become a problem, and what exacerbated it further was that even though he hadn't been working as a temp for a good couple of months he still continued to wake up unprompted at six or seven in the morning, as if his own body had just forgotten how to allow itself to lie in. He'd also frequently jolt himself awake following rather intensely vivid dreams, which more often than not manifested in one of two recurring motifs - either he perpetually rehashed the whole sickening argument he'd had with Haru at the show, or perhaps more shamefully his subconscious imaginings would have taken on a decidedly more sexual theme. Both types would result in excessive sweating and palpitations, the latter frequently accompanied by an unwanted and almost painful case of morning wood. It only made it all the more pathetic that now he needed to think of a certain blue eyed black haired someone just to take care of it.

But it was on one such morning, at a little after nine thirty, when he'd been shaken from his attempt at falling back to sleep that Makoto received a phone call, his outdated cell phone emitting obnoxious chirping and aggressively seismic vibrations from where it still perched charging on the nightstand. He rolled over and reached for the odious little device, yanking it from its power source and with an embarrassingly sore wrist brought it closer to his bleary green eyes. It was an unknown number, and Makoto's heart skipped a beat when he automatically considered the possibility that it might be Haru calling.

"Hello?" He questioned breathlessly, sitting up straight and flipping the phone open in one quick motion.

"Yes, this is Tacibana Makoto" he replied, disappointment seeping out of him as he lay back down on the pillow.

"Ah, great! I mean... Uh, it's nice to finally speak to you" the young sounding voice jittered nervously through the earpiece. "I'm Shigino-san's personal assistant, and well, he's asked me to set up a meeting - for the two of you that is - he's very interested in your opinions on marketing and post production..." and he waffled on for a few minutes more, Makoto's eyes drifting listlessly around the room all the while.

"Fine," Makoto interrupted eventually, and he tried not to sound too short with the guy, but in all honesty a meeting with Shigino didn't sound all that appealing, and he was still a little a crestfallen that he wasn't currently listening to Haru's husky tones. "When should I come in?"

"Um," and the soft sound of rustling paper and tapping keys filled the silence for a few long seconds "O-ok, how are you fixed for tomorrow?"

Oh good.

 

The next day Makoto made his way across town to Future Fish, and unusually for him he was woefully under prepared for a business meeting concerning the fate of his book and by extension his very career. But what was perhaps just as disconcerting was how weirdly shellshocked he was by public transport, by suddenly being around so many people again. He needed to focus, this was an important step for him as a writer, and he shouldn't let what was going on in his personal life interfere with succeeding at his goals. There was only one problem with that though, because this whole project was wrapped up in Haru, the artist had become such an intrinsic part of his creative process that Makoto couldn't imagine the book without him, he didn't want to. It also didn't help that the same person who held the keys to his success, also happened to hold weight over Haru too.

Makoto checked in at the reception desk of the nondescript lobby, and with a twinge of something like dread mixed together with unwelcome nerves got into the small elevator, pressing the button for the sixth level and breathing out a steadying exhale as the shiny mirrored doors slid closed.

"Alright Mako," he addressed his own reflection as he buttoned his blazer together at the waist, "let's keep this professional - it won't help with Haru if I can't even get past this stage" and he ran his fingers through his incessantly unruly hair. Maybe he should've worn an actual suit, instead of the dark jeans, v-neck and black jacket he'd dazedly dressed himself in that morning.

All too soon the elevator doors pinged open, and as Makoto stepped purposefully out into the familiar open plan office he was immediately greeted by a small, earnest looking silver haired man-child. Nitori Aiichirou, as he introduced himself in person, was dressed in a pair of white cropped trousers and a blue and white stripy jumper, which for some reason instantly reminded Makoto of a sailor suit. The kid wasn't really helping himself if he was aiming to look any older than a high schooler.

“Tachibana-san, thank you for agreeing to the meeting at such short notice,” he bowed courteously – if a tad over enthusiastically – his little blunt-cut fringe skimming across his forehead as he fussed. “Um, if you’d like to follow me…”

And as he was ushered along, Makoto couldn't help but look over his shoulder towards the opposite corner of the bustling room, towards his own team’s section and the little familiar boardroom with the once intimidating table and the window for a wall. He could see neither Gou nor her two colleagues, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he felt more relieved or disappointed. Nitori then led him through an open doorway a few feet from the elevator that Makoto had never really noticed before, and inside was a little waiting area with a few stylish leather armchairs and a side table laden with the most current of publications. There was one of those pod type coffee machines and an ostentatious flower arrangement, altogether it had a decidedly corporate air.

As Makoto took in his surroundings the assistant went over to a trendy podium style desk, picking up a wireless headset before delicately slipping it on so that his right ear was plugged by a small Bluetooth earbud. He leant over the table top to glance at something on the large shiny iMac that looked suspiciously like a twitter feed and then he nodded as he straightened, adjusting the little microphone that protruded from just above his left ear.

"So it looks like Shigino-san's on his way back," he informed attentively, gesturing casually towards the screen. Makoto's gaze followed the movement and flicked over to the computer, and there caught an unmistakable glimpse of Shigino's profile picture. God, he didn't even need to be in the room to be pretentious.

"Was he at some kind of event?" Makoto inquired a little confused.

"Oh no, he just stepped out for some lunch - he's probably on his way up right now..." He assured, pointing a little worriedly towards the screen as if he thought Makoto was after a minute by minute account. The author simply exhaled a slow mollifying breath through his nose, and then politely smiled before taking a seat on one of the creaky leather armchairs.

He’d barely settled when Shigino came sauntering through the door from the main office a minute later, just the sight of him making Makoto’s eyes instantly narrow and clenched jaw set. It seemed the publicist had also foregone his suit for today, but his equivalent pair of smart indigo jeans looked as if they cost at least three times that of Makoto’s own fairly decent pair, in addition he had a fine cable knit jumper rakishly draped around his shoulders and his trademark glossy pink hair was informally tousled to perfection. He looked effortlessly stylish, in that way which could only be achieved with inordinate amounts of money.

“Someone’s going to be pleased with me,” he sang whimsically as he made his way over to his assistant, placing a cardboard tray of takeout coffees and a brown paper bag on the desk. With his hands now free Shigino reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small plastic egg shaped container, and grinning rattled it between his finger and thumb. At this Nitori perked up to no end, sitting up straight like a begging dog as his glassy blue eyes widened with anticipation. “Especially for Aii” he simpered, throwing the object across the table in an arc to where his employee caught it with two grateful hands.

“Ah!” Nitori exclaimed, looking even more like a child as he examined his prize, before scrambling to pop it open. “It’s the duck!” he beamed, tipping the yellow plastic bird toy, complete with little purple crown of flowers onto the flat of his hand. It all looked kind of patronising to Makoto, however he didn't have much time to contemplate the odd dynamic, as Shigino’s cavalier smile had soon been redirected at him.

“Tachibana-san, shall we get started?” he suggested cheerfully, patting the silver head of his still enthralled assistant, before collecting his takeout and signalling for Makoto to join him in his office.

The adjacent room was as expected a little flashier than the relatively sparsely decorated boardroom he’d been in before, there were executive gadgets and statement objects interspersed strategically throughout the space, floating bookshelves and movie posters lining the lime green painted walls. Makoto’s eyes trailed curiously around the room as he was led to a glass topped table with matching architectural chairs, but it was only as he took the seat he was proffered that he noticed a rather striking piece of artwork.

It was a portrait of Shigino, quite modest in size and presented on a simple rectangular canvas with no frame or glass to detract from its obvious quality. The expertly rendered light that illuminated the intimate composition seemed to defuse softly through the subject's skin, his eyes alive with mirthful challenge. Yes, it only took Makoto a matter of seconds to discern that Haru was the artist responsible and subject aside it was beautiful, evoking a strangely complex feeling of jealousy and pride swelling painfully in his chest. It also happened to be mounted on the wall just above the real Shigino's left shoulder, a subtle power play perhaps as Makoto was faced with two sets of amethyst eyes looking over him where he sat, the pinks and lilacs clashing jarringly with the zesty shade of the walls.

"Good isn't it?" Shigino boasted a little, turning to spare it a glance before swivelling back round to begin unpacking the beverages he'd brought with him to the table. "Yeah, I think that was the first commission Haruka ever did for me - I was so young back then!" He bemoaned, pausing to prod and smooth at the eye bags and crows feet that didn't actually exist. "Here, black with two sugars" and he placed one of the paper coffee cups in front of the author.

"Thanks," Makoto acknowledged, taking it in his hand and peeling back the plastic lid. He was already more than slightly on edge as it was, and caffeine probably wasn't going to help matters, but at least it gave him something to do. It didn't occur to him at the time to ask how Shigino knew how he liked it.

"Fairy cake?"

"E-excuse me?" Makoto looked up from where he'd been staring into the steam from his drink, a hint of confusion creasing his brow.

"Would you like a fairy cake?" Shigino repeated as he began rustling in the paper bag. "They're like tiny English cupcakes, I go to this obscure little tea shop that just opened - in fact we should probably be drinking Earl Grey," he sighed regrettably "but well, I gotta have my fix" and smiling he tapped his fingers against his coffee before setting a small cake in front of Makoto in lieu of any form of answer.

The next forty minutes or so were spent entrenched in publishing buzz-words and industry jargon, but whilst Makoto had read up on the process this time it was still a lot of important information to take in, and fortunately he managed to keep his concentration as the admittedly knowledgeable publicist talked him through first pass pages and advanced copies, buyer and distributor relations, net sales, print runs and royalties.

“So,” Shigino said in conclusion, stretching a little as he replaced the leather flip case on the iPad he’d been using to illustrate his point on trim size and cover layouts usually associated with children’s fiction “there’s still a lot of work to do – mostly on our end you’ll be pleased to hear” and at once his superficial smile caught Makoto of guard, reminding him again of who it was he was dealing with. “As I said, we’ll need to put these decisions to the chief editor for finalisation, but once you’ve submitted your finished notes back to Gou-san we can really get the ball rolling on this.”

“Right,” Makoto nodded wearily, shuffling the paperwork he’d been given back into its file.

“Also,” he continued curiously, as he leant back in his chair and swizzled his expensive fountain pen between his fingers “I hear there’s been somewhat of a _disconnect_ with Haruka.”

Makoto’s stomach dropped, all this time he’d been trying his best to avoid talking about Haru, trying not to think about the whole situation, and as he looked up into Shigino’s unflinchingly shrewd gaze he detected a note of amusement that immediately tested his composure.

“There… have been some issues yes,” Makoto confirmed as he looked him stubbornly in the eyes “but we’ll get through them, so please don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m not worried” he grinned “Haruka’s a professional – he knows how to do what he’s told.”

“Don’t talk about Haru like he’s some kind of pet, like you own him” Makoto bit out, instantly regretting it as he saw the flash of self-satisfaction flit across Shigino’s face.

“And he belongs to you does he?” Shigino enquired coquettishly, smirking as he rested his chin on his palm.

“I’m not like that” he replied through gritted teeth, thankfully managing to keep his lowered tone even, “I’m not a user like some” and he looked pointedly at the thoroughly entertained publicist. “Some people like to hold power over others. They’re selfish and reckless.” Makoto knew he was skating on thin ice, he knew if he took it too far he’d regret it, but that passive aggressive attitude was easily pushing his buttons.

“You’re not like that huh? You don’t think that maybe _you’re_ the one who’s using Haruka - riding the coattails of an up and coming artist to sell your little books?” and he cocked his head to one side “I’m just looking out for him you understand, he’s a very precious… asset to me.”

Makoto stood up. His vision narrowed and the adrenalin was pumping as he gathered his things; he needed to get out of there before he did something stupid – because right now he could quite happily have punched this little fucker in the face. What on earth had happened to that nice young man who used to flinch away from conflict?

“Well it was nice talking with you,” Shigino purred easily from his chair “I’ll be in touch once we get the go ahead” he breezed as he calmly watched Makoto seethe.

The author nodded the tiniest of perfunctory bows before turning on his heels, quickly crossing the room to put some much needed distance between them and startling Nitori with his unexpected exit through the waiting room.

“See you around, Tachibana-kun” was Shigino’s lilting farewell.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I know. I'm an awful person. I haven't posted in almost two months and it was killing me - life and a lack of motivation somehow got in my way.   
> Even my bloody writing app updated and re-formatted in my absence, that's how shit and terribly worthless I am!  
> But hey, here's a new chapter to apologise, I hope it's okay. X

 

 

 

 

That meeting had lit a fire beneath Makoto. It was like a slap to the face or a bucket of icy cold water being thrown over his unsuspecting head, his fists clenching tight and his broad shoulders squared with previously-untapped fighting spirit. And whilst it was probably a good thing he was no longer sadly shuffling around in his apartment, the curtains drawn against the daylight and the evidence of a junk food marathon binge rapidly piling up around him, it was only that now his current state of mind was arguably just as unhealthy.

Because what Shigino had done, with just a simple tilt of that stupid pink head, was to crystallise Makoto's resolve, was to allow him to use all of that angst and resentment and longing, to convert it into some kind of fuel. What Shigino had done was to give Makoto some focus.

He'd set to work completing the final amendments to the little children's book around which his entire life now seemed to revolve, at long last being able to sit down and fully concentrate on the polish work he should've been doing for the past two weeks - he wanted to be able to make this project count, to put into it his every effort, as much as for Haru's sake as for his own. He'd even accepted a finalisation meeting with Gou, where he'd go into the office to hand in his completed manuscript and allow his team to then take the process over. And if this new positive, proactive attitude had its dark twisted roots set in cold defiance and spite, well surely that was fine as long as it brought him results.

So Makoto sat diligently hunched at his tiny kitchen table, he nestled on his sofa or sat propped up in bed as he tapped and scrolled at his laptop, his lip absently chewed between his teeth and a concentrated frown staring down at the screen from behind his thick rimmed glasses. Occasionally he'd scrawl little notes on the pad of yellow lined paper stationed in easy reach by his side, and sometimes he'd break for coffee before inevitably being drawn back in to a read-through of the section he was working on, once again becoming lost in the process. And it felt good, now that he'd actually set his mind to it, and he could feel it all coming together to a satisfying conclusion.

It was only late into the evening, when he sat up in bed with the pillows between his back and the headboard, the blankets pulled over his legs and the overheating laptop perched loyally over his thighs, that his concentration finally slipped and waned, those mischievous words and letters playing impish tricks on his mind as they blurred and jumbled into incoherency on the too bright page. He'd save his progress and close the document completely, smile weakly at the old photo of his siblings he had set as his wallpaper before relenting and opening up his web browser, to then relax with a sigh as he accepted his downward trajectory onto a particularly slippery slope.

The habit had begun as just another attempt at finding information. He'd found no trace of Haru at any of his previous known hangouts, and it was fairly obvious that Momo-kun knew nothing of the situation when he greeted him enthusiastically at the art shop, whilst on the contrary it seemed that Rin was actively avoiding him when Makoto visited the studio. He'd exhausted all of his options, even the ones he'd said he wouldn't for fear of making things awkward. And so the natural progression, when one was stumped, was to hopelessly turn to the internet.

Makoto wasn't at all surprised to find that Haru had little to no online presence whatsoever, the elusive artist was absent from pretty much every social media site that he could think of, including the ones that might even have been rather beneficial from a business point of view. He'd found several short articles written on the subject of Nanase Haruka, mostly local interest pieces or 'One to Watch' type biographies on art review or industry websites, but nothing that told him anything he didn't already know.

Indeed the only reward he received for all of his meticulous and thoroughly un-creepy research was a small, poorly executed photograph embedded into a Tokyo Arts column about the cultural significance of Studio Free - which indecently happened to have quite a long and surprisingly interesting history - and which only referred to Haru himself for a short paragraph or two towards the end of the piece. But what a reward it was. It looked like the photo had been taken in the studio's gallery space, possibly at some kind of exhibition or press event, and most definitely without Haru's knowledge. Makoto's heart had skipped when he'd seen it for the first time, he felt like he hadn't set eyes on the artist in years as opposed to the mere weeks it had actually been, and in that instant he was caught between smiling in fondness and openly grimacing at the pain that spiked in his chest.

The picture looked like it'd been taken with a long lens camera from across the room, Haru in three quarter profile with one of his snarky brows slightly raised as he seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, completely unaware of the paparazzi style intrusion. Towards the left of the frame a distinctive tuft of red hair could be seen just poking into shot, and it was obvious to anyone acquainted with them that Haru had been talking to Rin. Makoto wondered if they even knew about this photo, and if so how the sculptor had reacted to being cropped out of it so blatantly. The quality was grainy and it didn't really do Haru any justice, although the sharp contrast between his pale skin and dark glossy hair was still unmistakable, and even from such a distance his beautifully expressive almond eyes shone through like precious blue glass suffused with soft light. Makoto may have stared at that picture a little too much.

When his nocturnal searches eventually brought back no new results, he rationally decided to try widening his rather specific criteria. And that was when things took a turn. Makoto had remembered that when he'd been uneasily standing in his contemptible publicist's waiting room his assistant had used a twitter feed to track down his employers whereabouts - because apparently it was imperative for the world to know at exactly what stage of lunch Shigino had been. He knew he shouldn't be looking, that this was sliding into obsessive territory, but Makoto needed any connection with Haru he could get.

As expected of Shigino, as someone who worked with the media this time there was a lot of content for Makoto to trawl through, most of it inane bullshit but there were a few little nuggets of information that lead on to interesting discoveries. It turned out, unsurprisingly, he was the eldest son of a well to do and well monied family, his arrogant playboy attitude and wardrobe to match no doubt a product of his decidedly affluent upbringing. His father owned several successful businesses under a larger, slightly murky looking conglomerate, the logo of which was a rather fittingly sly fox with the Shigino Group initials emblazoned underneath. One of those subsidiaries was indeed a noteworthy publisher, and it appeared Shigino had enjoyed a suitably prestigious position before breaking away from daddy to join the much less formal ranks at Future Fish. But he had by no means completely cut his ties, and from what Makoto could glean Shigino was certainly still heavily involved in the various branches of the family business.

The knowledge hadn't really gotten him anywhere, hadn't gotten him any closer to Haru, but somehow it set Makoto slightly more at ease, at least he knew who he was dealing with now. In accordance with Shigino's position the guy knew practically everything about him, from his résumé to his preference in coffee, and so this bit of background information was a welcome assurance, if not entirely useful.

 

Thankfully, a few days later, Makoto's next meeting to be hosted within the trendy offices of Future Fish was populated with more familiar, friendly faces, faces that didn't automatically make him want to punch them. This was it. Even with all the issues he was having in his private life, Makoto still had enough perspective to realise that this was indeed a big deal. It was a milestone in his career that at one stage, before his book had finally been picked up, he was almost sure he'd never see.

"This looks great Mako-chan!" Nagisa praised excitedly as he flipped through the pages of the hardcopy Makoto brought with him, whilst the all important memory stick containing the digital copy had gone straight into the capable and reassuringly professional hands of Rei. And yes, by now it felt only natural to be calling his team by their first names, after all the supportive back-and-forth emails and phone calls they'd shared - not to mention Makoto's rather embarrassing behaviour at the art show.

"I hope so..." he mumbled a little self consciously, it was always kind of nerve wracking to watch when someone else was reading his work, he supposed he'd probably have to get used to that idea.

"Here they are," Gou drew their attention as she re-entered the boardroom, in her grasp the oversized artists portfolio she'd evidently excused herself to retrieve. Makoto took one look at the large black zip-through folder and blanched, because this was the first tangible sign he'd seen which meant that Haru was still around. Of course he'd expected it, he hadn't doubted for one second that Haru would keep to his word and finish off the project, but it still made his pulse sing nonetheless.

Gou took her seat in the adjacent chair to the author and paused to gulp down the last of her lukewarm coffee, before wiping the back of her hand across her mouth like she absolutely meant business, her dark red lipstick probably didn't dare so much as smudge. "Okay then, let's have a look at..." But she drifted off with a curious frown, and Makoto realised too late that he'd absently reached out his hand to brush his fingers against the slightly scuffed faux leather portfolio as it rested on the table.

"I..." He retracted his hand, holding it firmly against his chest with the other as if it couldn't be trusted alone. "Uh..."

"Hey, what's the matter?" She murmured kindly.

"I don't know if..." Makoto took a breath, "I'm not sure I'm ready to see them. I want to, they'll be beautiful I know it" he reassured "I just..."

"What's going on with you two? Is everything okay?" Gou pouted with concern,"I must say I was a little surprised when Haru actually came into the office to drop off the finished artworks. I thought he might leave them with you, or at least run them by you first..." again she trailed off into silence as she noticed the twinge of pain drag across Makoto's face.

"I just need to see him. To talk to him, just once" Makoto felt a lump forming in his dry throat and he took in a calming lung-full of air before exhaling with a shaky breath. Rei and Nagisa exchanged a worried glance between them, but Gou merely looked him over with her soft, sympathetic eyes.

"You know," she said breezily, gathering her paperwork and tapping it on the desk "it's written in Haru's contract that he has to attend any publicity events. I'm almost certain he never read the damn thing before he signed it - but I'll be sure to make him aware" she smiled encouragingly.

"Oh, okay" Makoto replied tentatively, but he couldn't quite force his face into the expression he knew his agent was after.

"Speaking of which," Rei interjected matter-of-factly "have you had any thoughts on where you'd like to hold the launch? I hear the conference facilities at the-

"Studio Free" Makoto said without even having to think, and then prepared to defend his reasoning against the trio of visibly hesitant glances he received in return. "W-what? It's nice there, spacious enough, it's local and they've obviously held large events before. " He was starting to ramble slightly. "I did quite a lot of the re-writes there and well, Haru might feel more comfortable and-"

"Okay okay," Gou smiled knowingly, lifting up her palm to signal that he'd made his case. "I'll speak to Sousuke about it. Now, about these illustrations..."

"Just go with whatever Haru gave you" Makoto decided. "I know he was working on panels for specific scenes, so... I'm sure what he came up with will be perfect. I trust his judgement, it's fine".

 

Makoto left feeling slightly lighter on his feet, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. To all intents and purposes his book was now finished; had been placed in the skilled hands of those who would transform his painstakingly perfected manuscript into something real and marketable, for it to find its way into the chubby little grasp of his target audience, to become a much loved bedtime story just as it'd started out all those years ago.

But if he was honest with himself there was still something missing. It should've been the two of them in that meeting, sitting side by side and taking pleasure in discussing the minutiae of the layout and the proposed finished look. But Haru hadn't been there, and even though he knew he was being stupid and ungrateful, his success still felt a little hollow.

Of course, now there was the prospect of seeing Haru at the launch party, and whilst Makoto was not so naive as to underestimate the persuasive powers of one Matsuoka Gou, he also didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing, he didn't think he could handle any more of the self imposed emotional roller coaster his life had somehow become. So for now, he'd just have to be content in the knowledge that they were still inextricably connected by that little children's book, that there was a part of them both within its ambitious pages.

Makoto stopped abruptly in his tracks, completely unaware up until that moment he'd actually been walking all that time. He refocused his eyes from where they'd been staring glazed and myopic at the pavement beneath his feet, to find that he was already rounding the corner of the street upon which Studio Free could be found. God, he was such a fucking cliche. But well, he was here now, so he might as well just take a look on the off chance.

He climbed the steps and slipped in through the open front door, but instead of heading straight across the gallery towards the elevator like he usually would, first Makoto doubled back and to the left, towards where he knew the cluttered little maintenance office was situated on the ground floor. He'd become quite familiar with the layout of the building from when he'd helped Haru and the others with setting up that eventful exhibition, and so he easily navigated his way towards the tucked away room where Yamazaki-san had his own modest space apart from all the artists.

Gou had said she'd talk to Yamazaki about hosting their event, but now Makoto was here he felt it only right to introduce himself - well, reintroduce since technically they'd already met - and because it absolutely had to be held there, it was the only place he wanted. Unfortunately though, the little room was quiet and empty, the tiny windows letting in insufficient daylight and creating an almost sleepy atmosphere amongst the dark and the dust.

The same could not be said for Rin's own studio. Makoto had taken the elevator up to the third floor, in a pathetic ritual to see if Haru was there, and of course he wasn't, but Rin most definitely was. The sculptor's door was shut just like Haru's, but Makoto could hear him shuffling around inside and perhaps even talking to himself. Makoto grit his teeth, he was so tired of being avoided.

"Oi, Rin!" He banged on the door continually with his fist, "stop being such a... such an asshole! Open the door! Where's Haru, I need to see-"

"What the actual fuck!" Rin snapped as he yanked open the door, he looked super pissed, hair plastered to his face and his shoulders tensed, his bare chest heaving in anger or... Oh.

"Um, s-sorry to interrupt" Makoto whimpered sheepishly, sending an awkward wave towards Yamazaki who was leaning nonchalantly against Rin's desk with his arms folded, also in a similar state of undress.

"Christ, what's wrong with you," Rin grumbled under his breath as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Look I don't know where fish boy is, and are you seriously telling me you guys still haven't kissed and made up already?"

Makoto winced at Rin's poor choice of phrase "he won't talk to me" he whined.

"Ugh, well I'm afraid I can't help you with that, and as you can see I'm kinda busy right now, so..."

"Ah, yes of course," Makoto blushed before seeming to remember his initial purpose, "Yamazaki-san, um I want to hold an event at the studio, so please take the proposal into consideration!" He blurted out earnestly, even bowing a little as he begged. "Gou said she'd give you a call-"

"Did you really have to bring up my sister?" Rin deadpanned, before slamming the door in his face.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (NEXT UP: Haru returns...)


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

 

It was high school graduation, it was moving away to Tokyo, and it was meeting his first girlfriend's parents all rolled into one.

The Fluffy Kittens wall calendar which hung (non-ironically) in the kitchen cheerfully announced with a large red circle and shakily scrawled handwriting that today the great launch party at Studio Free was upon him, and in the month that had elapsed since Makoto had handed over his finished manuscript he'd spent his days in a whirlwind of nervous activity and a near constant bustle, leaving him feeling faintly unprepared and a little surprised at how quickly the time had flown by.

And this was all due to the fact that despite having relinquished control to his team there had still been several diversely themed tasks sent his way from the different departments at the publisher: tasks like signing off on the chosen cover synopsis and selecting endorsement quotes, to fielding bafflingly complex calls from the Sales and Distribution team, and occasionally even unwittingly helping Nagisa with an ongoing argument he’d been playfully having with Rei.

Then of course there were the arrangements to be made for an impending and greatly anticipated visit from the thoroughly excited Tachibana family – a lovable but disruptive force that was not to be taken lightly. And seeing as though his bijou Tokyo apartment was barely large enough to house Makoto himself, let alone accommodate his parents and two teenage siblings, he’d needed to do some research and had subsequently booked them in to a couple of hotel rooms, making sure to find something nearby that was affordable and yet still up to his mother’s exacting standards.

He hadn't actually realised how much he'd missed everyone. Because although Makoto thought of them often and they still spoke on the phone or over the internet every couple of weeks, in reality he'd not been home in almost a year, what with working all hours when he was temping and then the total game-changer that had been his illustrious book deal. It was rather strange to think that now he probably regarded this colossal sprawling metropolis as more like his home than the sleepy little port town he'd grown up in, and perhaps that was only a fairly recent development.

Makoto swallowed a large gulp of his heavily sugared coffee, today no doubt would prove to be a long one.

The morning had already dissipated well into late afternoon, but as yet he’d been unable to eat a single thing, his stomach constantly twisting and fluttering with tingling excited nerves, and even his throat seemed to be a little tight. initially Makoto had wanted to meet his parents and siblings at the train station, to help them with using the metro and to get them settled in at their little hotel, but apparently it had taken his father only a minute of conversing over the phone the previous night to ascertain just how stressed out he was feeling. Therefore, much to his protestation, his parents had decided that they’d find their own way, and so the first time he’d be seeing them all would be later on at the show, his father jokingly pointing out that he and Makoto’s mother were responsible enough to look after themselves.

So this had left him rather unexpectedly with nothing to do, and whilst his parents’ thoughtfulness in trying not to be an inconvenience was definitely in the right place, as Makoto quietly padded around his flat in a pair of boxer shorts and slipper socks, he couldn’t help but feel the distraction might actually have been a welcome one.

As he headed back towards his bedroom, Makoto glanced with guilt at the innocuous brown cardboard box that sat idly by the front door like a stoic little guard, he'd actually needed to go downstairs to the lobby in order to sign for it and it was deceptively heavy for such a relatively small parcel, although admittedly that wasn't the real reason why he'd abandoned it just inside the entranceway. In truth, contained within that box were several pristine and freshly bound advance copies of his book, and by now they'd already been patiently sitting there unopened for nearly two and a half days.

It was both unprofessional and personally pathetic that he'd not yet been able to unpack the fruits of his happily obsessive and dedicated labour, the finished product of a realised dream that was at least ten years in the making. But it had been that same hesitant daze he'd found himself under during the finalisation meeting just a few weeks ago, that had once again descended upon him like an anaesthetic fog as he hefted the special delivery back up to his apartment. It was almost as if he wasn't quite emotionally equipped to deal with the double whammy of setting eyes on his own carefully crafted words rendered officially in print, alongside what would no doubt be breathtakingly beautiful artwork provided by Haru. And so, with no one there to reprimand him otherwise, Makoto had childishly feigned his ignorance and spent the last sixty or so hours in denial, with only that curious gnawing in his stomach to remind him of just how stupid he was being.

Because of course he'd have to look at it sooner or later, and with the launch event happening that very evening it would be fair to say it was pretty much guaranteed to be the former of the two options. It wasn't even as if Makoto was worried about the book being bad, in fact it was almost the opposite. He just didn't think he could handle it just yet; because he knew he'd want to pore over every single detail, to read it cover to cover, to want to see Haru's face when he saw it too. He needed to keep it together, at least until tonight. And yes, maybe he'd concede that the sickeningly realistic anxiety dream he'd had about each and every page turning out to be blank hadn't much helped in quelling his concerns.

Setting his coffee cup on the nightstand Makoto flopped gracelessly onto his unmade bed, shifting onto his side and lazily stretching out his substantial limbs like he was on some sort of forlorn horizontal cross-trainer, green eyes slipping closed he pressed his nose into the softness of the pillow and quietly groaned. One good thing about how hectic the last month had been was that he hadn't really had much time to think, and in a way that distraction had been a relief. It was only now, mere hours from the finish line, that his brain helpfully proceed to furnish him with a backlog of all the thoughts his subconscious had diligently compiled in his absence. There were the usual doubts and uncertainties that came as part and parcel with any big occasion, but rather predictably the bulk of those reflections seemed to centre around one individual in particular.

It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about Haru at all, the artist having somehow casually taken up residence in his brain since practically the day that they'd met, but rather that up until this point he'd had enough on his plate so as not to dwell too much. But now he was wondering how Haru was feeling, whether he was still proud of the work he'd produced, whether he thought about Makoto at all. A dark pessimistic side of him questioned if Haru would even turn up tonight, seeing as though he'd done such an effective job of avoiding him these last couple of months. His other, more familiarly pragmatic side countered however, reasoning that Haru just wasn't the type to shun his commitments, and with a pang he remembered how Shigino had condescendingly called him professional - that 'he knew how to do as he was told'.

Makoto rolled onto his other side, folding his arms around his torso as he stared at the new dark grey suit hanging from his wardrobe door. It was probably a little too formal for the usually laid back atmosphere of Studio Free, but as well as being a celebration tonight was also about business after all, and alongside her own outfit it was all his mother had talked about when he'd called to confirm the date. He must remember to cut the price tags out.

He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say to Haru - presupposing the artist would be there of course, but he knew his feelings hadn't really changed, had actually only solidified. He was meant to be good with language, yet after all this time Makoto was nonetheless unable to distill his emotions effectively into words, he just hoped he might be able to figure it out in the moment, and not choke like the last time he'd had the chance.

"I love you Haru," Makoto practiced aloud, his own voice sounding weird and his ears heating up with cringing embarrassment. Sure, he was a writer, but one more versed in whimsical children's literature, rather than poetry and romance and professions of undying love.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a sigh, sitting up and pulling off his thick, grip-soled socks and after balling them together tossed them with a total lack of accuracy in the general vicinity of his linen basket. He needed to get a shower, possibly try for another attempt at food, and then make that by now instinctive journey across town to Studio Free.

The party didn't kick off until seven, and Gou had said he needn't even be there until at least half past six, her conveniently businesslike tone cutting short the wavering squeak of opposition Makoto had directed at his telephone's receiver. She'd proceeded to reel off a brief overview of her running order - the catering arrangements, the dressing of the venue, the small meet and greet with the press - and had sounded positively ablaze with her capable enthusiasm and well considered strategy. It appeared she had everything in hand, and with defeat Makoto secretly suspected that this was a part of her job that his agent immensely enjoyed. It seemed it'd be a far cry from the last event he'd attended at the gallery, where he'd needed to muck in and get his hands dirty to help to get everything ready in time. He just hoped there might also be a more successful outcome to this one.

 

However, later as Makoto climbed the freshly swept steps outside the bustling studio, a distinct sense of déjà vu gently settled over him like a fine drift of snow, there was a definite buzz about the place and although he was still feeling anxious the realisation that this was all effectively for him had Makoto suddenly biting back a smile.

"Thanks for all your hard work today Kato-san" Gou praised as she signed off a clipboard and handed it back to the brawny workman she was showing out, her eyes landing on Makoto as they met in the doorway. She was wearing a simple dark purple cocktail dress with her hair down in loose fiery ringlets this time, and yet despite her glamorous attire her feet were clad in a pair of scruffy old running shoes as she presumably saved her stilettos for later, it was the first time Makoto was seeing her out of heels and therefore just how short she really was. "Tachibana-sama..." She greeted with a smirk and a mock formal flourish as she gestured for them to go inside. Makoto almost giggled.

"Hi," he grinned contagiously, stepping awkwardly into the foyer. And then he was stopped in his tracks, his eyes blowing wide as his breath caught in his throat. Because there on a stand in front of him was a large hanging scroll-banner, almost as tall as himself, and printed on the shiny canvas surface was no less than a full-colour masterpiece, evidently the chosen artwork for the cover of his book.

It had taken him ridiculously by surprise, and he felt the physical embodiment of the phrase 'swept away' as the very air seemed to vanish from his lungs. The painting was literally stunning, and Makoto felt his stomach flip and his heart swell simultaneously as he realised that this was what Haru had been working on, had made with his own pair of talented hands just for him. It was the same feeling of reverential awe that he'd experienced when he'd first chosen the artist as his illustrator, and that familiar sense of being mysteriously connected flooded and warmed his entire body. Haru had done it again, had depicted something that Makoto had needed an entire book-full of words to communicate, this image was what his heart and mind had known all along.

It showed the picturesque cliffs that Makoto had transplanted straight from his childhood memories, the perspective set from somewhere out at sea. The delicate ink and watercolours picked out gently rolling ocean waves in the foreground, the landscape rising up in the middle-distance with pastel shaded trees and vegetation dappled across the detailed sweeping precipice. To the left of the coastal scene, perched along the skilfully rendered clifftop were the subtly placed figures of two small children, the protagonists of his story, their features indistinguishable against the cream and blue backdrop of the cloud mottled sky. Finally, in that ethereal airspace that floated above the idyllic composition hung the title of his novel - 'Eternal Summer', and Makoto's chest ached with perfection when he realised that the text was actually written in Haru's own gracefully inscribed handwriting.

"-koto... everything okay? Makoto?" Gou snapped him out of his trance with a hand on his shoulder, and the author blinked down at her before his eyes drifted back to the banner.

"Uh, yeah" he croaked softly as he willed himself back into reality.

Within an hour the gallery space was heaving, and Makoto was heartened to see so many familiar faces milling around and happily chatting together in their various different groups, and whilst there may have been a _free alcohol_ based incentive for some of the artists who frequented the building anyway, they still came over to talk to Makoto and congratulated him on his achievements. In addition to the usual crowd - Nagisa and Rei, Rin and Yamazaki - Makoto's neighbour Momo-kun had surprisingly also been invited, as it turned out his older brother was a photographer with a darkroom at Studio Free and he was helping him out with documenting the event in pictures.

The intensity of the event really raked up a notch for Makoto when his family arrived, turning what felt like a weirdly elaborate social event, complete with networking and publicity spots, into the most surreal and dreamlike moment of his life thus far. He was hugged so tightly by his brother and sister, and wow but they'd gotten so tall and grown up so much since he'd seen them last, dressed in their smartest clothes and yet still clamouring for his full attention like they had done when they were just little kids. Next it was his parent's turn to greet him, his father straightening out Makoto's wonky olive green tie with a smile and when his mother became a little emotional with expressing their pride, it was all Makoto could do to keep it together himself. He was so lucky to have these people in his life.

As expected, Gou had done a fantastic job with organising everything right down to the tiniest detail; the gallery was decorated with an elegant green and blue oceanic theme to go with the coastal setting of the book, and even the food had a distinctly seaside flavour. The drinks were classy and abundant, unlike the cheap plonk and watery beer that had been available to the crowd at the last exhibition, and once Makoto had made sure his family were fed and watered he made his way over to where his agent stood chatting amiably with the rest of her team, towards the other end of the buffet table.

"This has been great, thank you so much" he enthused, still feeling slightly overwhelmed.

"You're welcome, and you deserve it" Gou smiled back as she patted him affectionately on the arm. And in that moment Makoto was so glad to have had his debut novel picked up by Future Fish, that he'd had Gou as his agent to guide him through everything, because although she was strong willed and seemed like she probably didn't take shit from anyone, to Makoto she'd been so understanding and supportive.

"Nagisa, while I appreciate the thought - please don't do that - I am more than capable of feeding myself" Rei put his foot down as he swatted away the large scallop on a stick that Nagisa was attempting to deliver into his mouth.

"But Rei-chan, they're so good!" Nagisa endorsed, his mouth a little too full.

Makoto watched their antics play out with a fond smile, because those two had also been an invaluable part of his experience; Nagisa with his joyful enthusiasm and Rei with his soothing professionalism. They seemed to balance each other out that way, and worked surprisingly well as a team despite their constant bickering - Makoto was still secretly impressed at how Rei could so easily concentrate with his desk right next to Nagisa's.

"Hey!" Gou barked under her breath, he tone akin to an embarrassed mother addressing her kids, "what did I say about your behaviour tonight? I don't want another occurrence like the last time we were here, got it?"

"Yes Gou-san" Rei solemnly apologised, bowing his head respectfully. At which point Nagisa stuffed his mouth with a scallop.

"W-what happened last time?" Makoto asked, watching in concern as Rei tried not to choke.

"They got noisy drunk on free booze," Rin interjected as he sidled up to them and gave his little sister a pinch on the arm "Nagisa pretended he was an art critic and Rei just wouldn't stop giggling" and he smirked at the way the pair of them had the good grace to look sheepishly embarrassed.

"Oi!" Gou retorted, a jab to her brother's ribs in an uncharacteristically juvenile retaliation.

"Hey there writer guy," Rin turned his attention to Makoto, absently rubbing his side and wincing good-naturedly. "This party's kinda fancy" he teased "but the book looks good, nice work" he added with genuine warmth.

"Thanks," Makoto accepted bashfully "and um, sorry about... you know-" he gestured towards Yamazaki, who was standing alone a little ways off at the buffet table, staring down rather intimidatingly at the food but not actually eating any of it.

"No worries" the sculptor dismissed, running a hand through his hair and evading the curious look from his sister. "Did you manage to catch up with our boy Haru?" Makoto shook his head.

"He'll be here" Gou reassured him sympathetically, and Makoto got the feeling that she'd been tactfully avoiding the subject until just now.

 

It was maybe forty five minutes later when Makoto first spotted him.

The author had been stranded on the receiving end of a tedious and somewhat one-sided conversation with a local arts columnist about the holidays he'd taken by the coast, when in boredom and having already emptied his glass his gaze had strayed around the relaxed atmosphere of the room, subsequently landing on the tall and unmistakably slender frame of one Nanase Haruka.

Makoto's lips curved into an adoring smile as he let his eyes linger over the artist where he stood with Nagisa and Rei, nodding and humming politely to the inconsequential witterings of the journalist hack all the while. It was odd, but he didn't feel that tight knot of nervousness or shock he'd thought he might have experienced, when he'd run the scenarios of their reunion over and over in his head. Instead he felt a sense of calm, a stillness he'd been missing for the preceding two months that might just as well have been two years.

Thirty minutes later however, and that calm sense of stillness had resolutely melted into frustration. Makoto had done a passable job of politely excusing himself from the frightful bore who'd been talking his ear off, only to be immediately cornered by some other random press or industry type before he'd managed to take a mere couple of steps. But what made it all the worse, was that it'd become fairly clear that Haru was still actively avoiding him, ignoring his by now blatant staring and doing his best to keep moving in the opposite direction each time Makoto made a break for it, like they were engaged in some ridiculous game of cat and mouse. Rin was right about this guy, he could be a real stubborn jerk when he wanted to, and Makoto had had about enough.

"Excuse me" he mumbled with exasperation, moving away from the small group of people without waiting for a reply, making a deliberate beeline across the room to where Haru was now standing with Rin and Yamazaki. "Haru" he said firmly as he came to a stop behind him, and he watched the artist's lithe shoulders sag as he exhaled a long weary breath. "Haru" he called again, his voice still level as he ignored the awkward glances Rin was shooting between them.

"Uh..." the sculptor nodded over Haru's shoulder, redundantly pointing out Makoto's presence and no doubt receiving a glare for his efforts.

"...Yes Makoto" Haru sighed, finally turning to face him, although there wasn't a question in his tone - as if he didn't really want to ask, didn't really want an answer.

Up close he was more beautiful than Makoto had remembered, his dark glossy hair and soft pale skin, those bewitching almond eyes that didn't quite meet his own. And Haru looked spectacular in formal attire of course; his nicely tailored navy suit complete with a fitted waistcoat buttoned low on his midriff, his slim silk tie the perfect cobalt blue. Makoto could've looked at him for hours, if it weren't for the waves of irritation he felt rolling off the artist in his direction.

"We really need to talk" he stated evenly, grabbing Haru's wrist when he motioned to protest. "We can do this here, or we can do it upstairs. Your choice."

"Tch" Haru bristled petulantly as his eyes floated up to the ceiling in defiance, but he made no real attempt to wrestle free of Makoto's grasp.

"Good" the author smiled brightly. "Do excuse us" he glanced at an impressed looking Rin, before dragging the shorter man off behind him to the old rickety freight elevator in the corner of the room.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologise for where I left off last time - so now, let's talk...

 

 

 

 

The elevator ride was muted to say the least. Makoto had only finally let go of Haru to pull the noisy cage door across and to set the ancient lift in motion, and now that they were standing shoulder to shoulder in uncomfortable silence as the floors leisurely dwindled by, his previous burst of bravado was starting to wane somewhat.

He glanced sideways at the artist, who stood nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets, churlishly staring forwards as if he were simply waiting in line at the post office, and Makoto felt a swell of fond exasperation cloud his judgement - because really he needed to stay on point if he wanted to win Haru over, but he just looked so cute when he was sulking. Almost as if he sensed the indignity of Makoto's thoughts, Haru glanced at him pointedly and the author quickly averted his eyes, clearing his throat into his hand, as if that would actually fool anyone.

Haru exited the elevator almost as soon as it was stationary, not waiting for Makoto before directly making his way down the small whitewashed corridor and stopping in front of the firmly locked door of his studio. He'd already located his keys by the time Makoto had caught up with him, and with more grumbling and ire than was usual the artist set about nudging the doorframe with his foot and rattling the handle in that oddly precise sequence that would grant them access through the temperamental doorway. In a wise attempt to conceal his usual amusement over the little process Makoto quietly shifted his gaze to the floor, whereupon he noticed a rather familiar looking package propped up beside the entrance, a package he knew to contain several advanced copies of his - _of their_ \- newly published book.

He crouched down and picked up the parcel just as Haru got the door open, but before standing to follow him inside Makoto spotted the small piece of yellow paper on which he'd written his number and tucked beneath the gap well over a month ago. It seemed Haru hadn't noticed it, and this confirmed his theory that indeed the artist hadn't visited his studio at all in that time. Makoto retrieved the note and took it along with the parcel over to Haru's desk, it was funny really, how neither of them had opened their boxes, although admittedly Haru hadn't actually been there to receive his, whereas Makoto had pretty much avoided his own like it housed a deadly contagion or a creepy haunted artefact. He placed his contact details in a prominent position on the desk, his fingers brushing indulgently over its shabby wooden surface.

It was strange to feel a sense of nostalgia for a room in which he'd only been absent for a mere handful of weeks, but even the faint smell of oil paints and the particular acoustics of the place made his heart ache, made his lip catch gently between his teeth. This studio was at the epicentre of his feelings for Haru, it was where he'd clocked up all those precious hours with him, where he watched the artist in his element, and Makoto realised that it was where _he_ felt happiest too.

Behind him Haru busied himself with pulling open the large sash window to let in some much need air and then cleared away a few empty water bottles and takeaway paper cups into a small office trash can.

"Haru..." Makoto finally interrupted when he'd moved on to fixing the frankly unsalvageable cushions of the threadbare couch. Haru huffed as he straightened, pausing for a moment before glancing at Makoto and then buying himself some more time by carefully shedding his navy suit jacket. He placed it on the back of the wooden chair by the window before taking a seat, gesturing for the author to continue, although he didn't look particularly receptive.

Makoto licked his lips and swallowed nervously. Where to start? He needed to get this right, because although it might well be a positive sign that Haru appeared to be giving him a chance, he could definitely still sense the reluctance. He kind of reminded Makoto of a skittish woodland deer, delicate yet alert and almost otherworldly.

"So, about what happened on the roof," here goes nothing "when I... when I kissed you..." Makoto watched as Haru's cheekbones coloured, and he tried not to smile at the way his eyes fluttered shyly. "I didn't mean to upset you, I didn't mean to make you angry-"

"I'm not angry" Haru griped, and Makoto sighed as he remembered the exact same exchange during their last conversation.

"Really?" He countered incredulously "because you seem pretty angry to me - Haru, you disappeared for two months; I couldn't contact you, I looked everywhere I could think of, nobody knew where you were. I was worried about y-"

"I can look after myself!" Haru bristled sharply, his husky tone low and dangerous "have done for years" he added, almost to himself.

"Okay," Makoto appeased him with a show of his hands, unused to the heat in his voice. "But why did you leave? Why wouldn't you talk to me?"

"I..." Haru's brow furrowed and his jaw drifted shut.

Makoto remained standing several feet away, watching over Haru where he sat looking lost on the wooden chair by the window, and the distance between them was a little too wide for his liking. He wanted to press Haru against his chest, to encircle his arms around that smaller frame and hold him tight, to never let him leave again. But they had some things to discuss first, he had some reassurances to make before he could hopefully act upon those impulses.

"Thing is Haru," he began "well, I did kiss you, and those things you said... about me being confused-"

"We don't need to talk about it" Haru dismissed before Makoto could continue.

"But we-"

"It shouldn't have happened" he said bitterly.

"Wait-"

" _I_ shouldn't have let it happen-"

"Hey!" Makoto interrupted this time "I never thought I'd be saying this, to you of all people, but would you just shut the hell up for one minute and let me talk?"

They glared at each other for a long moment before Haru ducked his head to one side, Makoto beginning to pace slightly as he willed his quickened pulse to calm down.

"Okay, so first things first" he said slowly, as the source of Haru's resentment finally began to dawn on him " _I_ was the one who kissed _you_ , maybe I could've timed it better, but it was all me. It wasn't your fault, I don't regret doing it" he took in a steadying breath "and I'm not going to apologise for it either."

The confusion was evident in Haru's preoccupied expression, as he seemed to wage an internal battle with the thoughts he'd made himself believe, his slender fingers playing absently with one of the little blue enamel cuff links that adorned his white cotton shirtsleeves.

"I'm glad I kissed you" Makoto pressed on, the leather of his shoes creaking as he crouched down in front of him in an attempt to meet his eye. "So please Haru," he said gently as he reached out to cup the artist's face "you don't need to feel guilty anymore."

"It's not that easy," Haru protested as he snapped out of his daze and batted Makoto's hand away, he stood and stepped around the author, reestablishing some distance between them. "You're straight Makoto."

"Apparently, not so much," Makoto retorted as he got to his feet, moving closer to Haru as he felt the frustration begin to bubble in his veins. "Am I really so straight if I can't stop thinking how beautiful you are?" He asked sincerely, his throat going slightly dry as he studied Haru's features properly for the first time in so long. "Or about how much I want to touch you," he advanced another step, causing Haru to back up into his desk as the distance between them was rapidly chased away. "All the things I want to do to you..." He murmured as he trapped the artist between his arms, his hands planted on the tabletop either side of him as Makoto leaned in ever closer, inadvertently breathing a trace of Haru's wonderfully musky scent in the process.

Makoto watched Haru's Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallowed thickly, their heated breaths mingling in the close proximity. But when his eyes trailed upwards to focus on his slightly parted lips, Makoto knew he was a goner, and he knew they had more to talk about before he allowed himself to get carried away. But he just couldn't help it.

"Haru..." He all but whined as he leant down to place a soft chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Makoto pulled back just enough to scan Haru's face for any obvious signs of discomfort, but when in doing so found that his eyes had slipped closed and a blush had dusted over his cheeks, Makoto dipped back down to claim his lips more purposefully.

He sighed into the kiss, craning his neck to nibble at Haru's bottom lip as he shifted forward some more, bringing his hands up from the desk to lightly graze his thumbs over Haru's slender hips. Haru's movements were slow, not completely unresponsive, but he still seemed very unsure and tentative, and Makoto made it his life's mission to coax more action from him. He pulled Haru flush against himself and when the artist gasped he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside his mouth, sweet and gentle he adopted a lazy pace, not wanting to push too fast too soon.

Haru tasted just as heavenly ad he'd remembered, better even, and he couldn't help the moan that escaped from the back of his throat as he explored his mouth, tempting his tongue into joining in with the sensual dance. He could feel Haru shaking in his arms, and Makoto smoothed his large hands reassuringly over the small of his back and up to his perfectly angular shoulders, the glossy silk panel of Haru's waistcoat cool beneath his fingers.

"Mhn" Haru whimpered as he brought one hand up to grasp at the front of Makoto's jacket, the other still blindly clinging to the solid desk behind him. The little noise made Makoto's stomach flip and his heart jump up into his throat, and his own hand slipped to the back of Haru's head, tangling through those silky strands as he tightened his embrace possessively.

Eventually they were forced to break away for air, their lips hovering mere inches apart as Makoto rested his forehead against Haru's, and whilst the artist's eyes remained closed he couldn't help but let a blissful smile break out across his face. It was quiet for a long few minutes, only their stuttered breathing filling the room and the faint noise of the party still going on a few floors below, Makoto's arms staying wrapped firmly around the smaller man to keep him pressed up close against him. But Haru had dropped his head onto Makoto's broad shoulder, and after a while his continued silence became a little disconcerting, and then his hand clenched tightly on Makoto's jacket before finally he was pushing away with growing urgency against his solid chest.

"Haru?" Makoto questioned, reluctantly letting him go.

"I'm no good" he quietly uttered with a palpable sense of defeat.

"What?" Makoto asked in surprise, his tone softly cautious and also a little sad.

"I'm not a good person. I make trouble for people. You... you shouldn't be around me."

"Haru, that's not true-"

"You don't know!" He bit out as if he were in pain, as if he were desperately trying to hold back a sob. Haru took in a deep breath, his eyes shifting to the floor as he anxiously tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear, his hands noticeably shaking. "Just... I'm not worth it okay?"

"No," Makoto said sternly, drawing Haru's attention back from the floor "not okay. Haru, I know you, you _are_ a good person, trust me on that. You're so talented" he began, frowning at the way Haru rolled his eyes "and I'm not even talking about your art - although that's also true by the way - but I know you get told that all the time. I mean how kind you are, how generous you are and that awesome sense of humour of yours. Those things are worth so much more than you think Haru." Makoto tried to smile, but he could tell that Haru was yet to be convinced. "I know things have been hard for you, in ways I can't even imagine, but you've done so well. God Haru, you don't know how amazing you are."

Haru stood there looking so vulnerable, one arm across his body as it held on to the other, his eyes prickling with tears as he looked up to the ceiling, sniffing just once as he tried to keep himself together. Makoto couldn't stand it, he was reaching out for him within seconds, hugging him tightly and instinctively planting little consoling kisses against his temples and the top of his head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He pulled back enough to look into Haru's eyes, smiling as he stoked his thumb across those lips that were still a little plump from kissing.

"I should have told you this a long time ago," he said softly "but I'm in love with you Haru. I love you." He said again.

"Makoto..." and Haru's eyes were blown almost comically wide in shock.

"You don't have to say anything now," he smiled as he folded Haru tighter in his arms, resting his cheek on his crown with a sigh "but just promise me you'll think about it, that you won't go away again. Ever." He added with a little chuckle.

"Idiot" Haru grumbled, nuzzling into his collarbone nonetheless.

"Ahem" came a voice from the open doorway, and Makoto pivoted them round, startled but still a little reluctant to let Haru go. "While this is cute and all," Rin said with the worlds biggest smirk on his face "my little sis needs you both downstairs for some speeches or something. Guess we're even now, hey writer guy?" and he winked before disappearing once again.

"I'll tell you later" Makoto grinned down sheepishly at Haru's raised eyebrow, stealing a quick peck on the lips before relinquishing his hold.

Haru merely shrugged, and straightened Makoto's tie.

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

 

 

Toothpaste dribbled slowly down the side of Makoto's chin from the corner of his mouth, his lips firmly set in a counterproductive smile, and as he once again resurfaced from yet another misty-eyed daydream he cheerfully resumed the usually simple task at hand, rapidly scrubbing his toothbrush across his foam covered teeth before spitting into the sink and finally rinsing it away. Indeed, there was a particularly dopey grin plastered across his face as he caught his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, his hair as yet untamed having recently awoken from perhaps one of the most refreshing nights sleep he could remember in years. He felt like yesterday may well have been the best day of his life.

After he'd made his way back down to the gallery with Haru, Gou had almost immediately seized upon him and practically manhandled him into a small clearing of waiting guests, and following a short introduction had inexplicably gestured for the author to take the floor. He'd never been very good at public speaking, and Makoto faltered as he realised he was expected to come up with something to say. His eyes had scanned the eager faces of the people gathered around him, the pause only lasting a moment but the sheer weight of their anticipation seemed to cause time itself to lag within his mind. There was Gou and Rei and Nagisa. Rin and Yamazaki. His parents and his brother and sister. The local art scene and their counterparts from the press. He didn't quite know how to begin to express his gratitude, how to articulate what all of this had meant to him, and as he'd subsequently garbled over an unknown syllable, he thought that maybe he never would. But then his increasingly panicked eyes had met with deep calming blue, and at once he took in a breath, Haru simply nodding his encouragement in a way that words could never have achieved so succinctly. He managed it, albeit a little stilted, and if his tone had involuntarily softened as he came to give praise to his illustrator, well then that was entirely coincidental. And then for his own part, when all eyes were directed at the artist, Haru had merely addressed a quiet 'thanks' to the crowd, lifting up the wineglass that he'd miraculously acquired from somewhere. In return, Makoto had simply shaken his head with a chuckle, silently wondering to himself why he had never thought of that.

The rest of the evening went by in somewhat of a haze, chatting amiably with numerous different people, all the while with Haru standing by his side. It was quite difficult to keep his eyes off the artist, to stop himself from reaching out to touch him as his fingers itched for any kind of physical contact. But really, Makoto was just elated to have him there, to be allowed to spend time in his presence.

At one point they'd been idly chatting with Rin and Gou and a few of the other resident artists, when Makoto had received a rather exuberant barrage of taps to his shoulder, and upon turning had found his copper haired neighbour emphatically brandishing a copy of his book, like it was some giant specimen of rare arthropod, and excitedly hopping from one foot to the other. Behind him stood a taller, unfamiliar guy, but the undeniable family resemblance and the presence of the camera stationed around his neck signalled that this was in fact Momo's older brother, and so in turn another of Haru's colleagues at his part time job at the art shop.

"I started reading it this afternoon when brother was busy in the darkroom. It's really good!" Momo grinned after the introductions had been made, "will you sign it for me?" He asked hopefully, shoving it towards Makoto and offering him a pen.

"O-of course!" Makoto stammered, feeling somewhat awkward at having never been asked to autograph anything before, that on top of the added weirdness of it being for his own neighbour no less.

He took the little novel in his hands, his thumb stroking across the smooth matte finish of the cover, a cover which carried a smaller but no less stunning print of Haru's design. It was so unreal to be holding his own book, and it just looked right, from the outside; it's colour palette and elegant handwritten title, it's bound stack of sturdy off-white pages. It was rather silly to think that he still hadn't actually explored the contents of those said pages, and although now Makoto found he was more than ready to see what delights they held, he couldn't help but feel it necessary to do so in a quiet, private moment, away from prying eyes.

"You know it's a children's book right?" Haru quipped blandly, filling the extended silence and teasing his colleague in one fell swoop.

"Yeah, it's great!" Momo enthused, the sarcasm completely going over his head.

Makoto couldn't help but laugh, his gaze shifting up to meet those shining blue eyes that had been observing him so attentively. It was unclear how they managed it, but those shorthand messages they were able to instinctively communicate through their eye contact alone were so earnest and true that they had Makoto melting into a tender smile, momentarily forgetting everyone else in the room entirely.

"So unfair" Gou sighed wistfully. "Are there even any straight men left in this town?" She mused aloud, to which both Mikoshiba brothers raised their hands in tandem, and Makoto blushed almost incandescent as he fumbled to write any kind of note on the suddenly engrossing flyleaf of the book. Rin it seemed, couldn't decide whether he wanted to laugh his ass off at the author's obvious embarrassment, or gruffly edge his sister away from her pair of ardent new admirers. Haru predictably grumbled something under his breath, and stubbornly looked off to the side.

Later on, when the party atmosphere was beginning to wind down a little, Makoto had pointed the members of his family out to Haru and with a beckoning motion had invited him over to meet them; the twins sitting on a small bench trying not to look too bored whilst subtly playing with their phones, his parents nearby but enjoying the chance to socialise, and presumably gush to anyone who would listen about their successful author son.

Haru had looked surprised and even a little nervous when Makoto had needed to turn back to him, curious as to why he hadn't come with him straight away. But after a pause under a set of enquiring green eyes and contemplative head tilt, Haru finally released his bottom lip from between his teeth and let out a breath, seeming to steal himself before he nodded and quietly followed after him.

"You're a very accomplished artist Haru-kun" Makoto's father had complimented whilst the twins put away their phones and ambled over to see what everyone was talking about. "Your work reminds me a little of Hasegawa, have you studied Sumi-e painting at all?"

"Yes, and thank you" Haru nodded rather stiffly, but seemed to relax slightly as the conversation drifted onto familiar ground. It just so happened that for some years Makoto's father had collected various art postcards and small prints, spanning an eclectic mix of styles and artists, and it seemed that Haru found it reassuring to be able to speak his own language, about other peoples art instead of about himself.

"So, have you had a good night?" Makoto's mother asked warmly, still positively glowing with pride.

"Yeah, it's been amazing" Makoto beamed, dragging his attention away from Haru and his father, who were still calmly discussing influential painters.

"Your agent Matsuoka-san did a wonderful job, and she even gave us a few complimentary copies of the book - although she was a bit surprised you hadn't given us any of the ones you were sent young man" she tried for a disapproving pout, but that ever kind face of hers and obvious happy mood meant she couldn't quite pull it off.

"Ah sorry," Makoto said sheepishly with a smile "they only arrived a few days ago and it's been kind of hectic."

"I know, I'm only teasing sweetheart" she soothed. "Oh, but I know what I wanted to ask you, what're you up to tomorrow? I was thinking we might have lunch together before we go off sightseeing with your brother and sister."

"I want pancakes" Ran butted in.

"Um, yeah that sounds nice. And I'll see what I can do about pancakes" Makoto replied, patting his not so little sister on the head.

"Perhaps Haru-kun would like to join us?" His mother said raising her voice to interrupt the other conversation. "Please dear, stop boring the poor boy" she teased her husband. "Won't you let us take you out for lunch tomorrow?"

"I... wouldn't want to intrude" Haru replied a little awkwardly.

"Nonsense. It's the least we can do to thank you for taking care of Makoto, we do worry about him sometimes, all the way out here in Tokyo."

"You should come." Makoto turned to Haru, after groaning with embarrassment at his mother.

"We're having pancakes" Ran added, in a clear attempt to seal the deal.

And at that Haru was furnished with the full force of the Tachibana-Puppy-Dog-Method, five sets of imploring eyes trained on him expectantly. Resistance it seemed was futile.

 

Makoto had chosen a diner style restaurant located a few streets over from the little hotel in which his family were staying, and although he'd never been to this particular establishment before it'd looked quite nice and relaxed from the web search he'd done that morning, its large painted windows and red vinyl awnings out front, the classic black and white checked floor tiles once inside. The menu may also just happened to have contained several different varieties of sweet pancakes served warm with ice cream, but really that fact was neither here nor there.

He'd gone a little early to reserve a booth, the events of the previous day filling his body and mind with a positive energy that simply wouldn't allow him to sit around in his apartment. He was feeling somewhat euphoric, it seemed the launch party had been a resounding success, and above all he'd been able to talk with Haru.

He sat alone in the red leather u-shaped booth just big enough for six, his faded 8otto tshirt smartened only slightly by a black cotton shirt left unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The diner was pleasantly quiet with only a few other patrons at smaller tables scattered around, and so Makoto was able to take the time to enjoy the tranquil atmosphere whilst he waited, sipping his usual sugary black coffee and marvelling at how wonderfully his life had almost seemed to blossom of late. Sure, the initial acceptance letter from Future Fish was still a hugely important catalyst in all this, but only now that the book was officially out there did it feel like he'd fully achieved something. And Haru, God but the mere thought of him sent a giddy flourish tangling through his gut. He was such an irreplaceable, breathtakingly beautiful, and unexpected addition to his plan, and as Makoto stared into the mystic depths of his coffee he couldn't help but idly pinch his lower lip between his finger and thumb, mentally reliving the moment when he'd kissed him just the night before.

"Morning" Haru said casually, as he slid in beside the author as silently as a ninja assassin.

"Fuck!" Makoto muttered under his breath, trying to steady his stupidly tall coffee cup on its completely redundant saucer, and attempting to play down the fact that Haru had just made him jump like a ghost in a haunted house. The artist merely raised an eyebrow.

"Good morning Haru" Makoto relaxed, although his heart kept up its adrenaline fuelled canter once he'd finally set eyes upon him, Haru's navy blue boat-necked jumper allowing his delicate collarbones to peek through just a little, his big pretty eyes looking questioningly up at him from beneath his silky bangs. "Hey," Makoto added once he'd taken his fill, his voice coming out all breathy and embarrassingly dreamy.

And there it was - the slight awkwardness that perhaps was to be expected, as Haru averted his eyes to where his fingers were fidgeting on the table, a slight rosy blush creeping across his previously pale cheekbones.

Jesus Christ, how could this guy be so cute?

"Onii-chan!" The twins called in unison, a habit they evidently both found annoying now that they were older but were comically unable to snap out of, their bickering drawing Makoto's lingering gaze away from Haru as they scooted into the booth beside the artist, his parents following behind and eventually taking their places on the opposite seat next to Makoto.

"Good morning boys," Makoto's mother cooed, making him feel like a kid again, but strangely not exactly hating the sentiment either. It was nice, spending time with his family after being apart for so long, and yes perhaps the added bonus of having his thigh unavoidably press up against Haru's in the limited space may've had something to do with the stupid smile on his face too.

"Ugh, I don't want to go to Disneyland, I want to see Tokyo Dome" Ran vetoed another of her brother's suggestions as they perused the diner's rather extensive menus. Menus that were apparently in some kind of shortage, as they'd only been issued with three in total, meaning Makoto and Haru had needed to share one between them. Makoto wasn't complaining or anything.

"Baseball? That's so boring!" Ren whined "what do you think Onii-chan, Tokyo Disney or Tokyo Dome?"

"Um, I don't know," Makoto smiled diplomatically "I've not really done a lot of sightseeing since I moved." He made a show of mulling the decision over, before turning to the person wedged comfortably between himself and his siblings "Haru's lived here longer than me, where do you think they should go?"

"Tokyo Stationary Museum" Haru deadpanned, without missing so much as a beat.

"What?!" Ren an Ran exclaimed simultaneously, elbowing each other in the ribs even though their incredulous focus remained on the artist throughout.

"No way, there's no such place as that!" Ran challenged excitedly.

"There is," Haru confirmed "it's got pens lined up on shelves" he continued, and Makoto had to chuckle at the tiny amused smirk that flickered across Haru's lips. Somehow he'd just known they'd get along.

 

Makoto was so content. He had all of his favourite people with him, together around one table. And maybe it was just that thought, mingled with the cosy atmosphere of the well chosen restaurant, that caused him to get a little too carried away.

"Um, everyone..." He cleared his throat as the waitress took their empty dessert plates away "so, I really want to tell you guys something" he said smiling a little nervously, as a comforting warmth began flooding into his face and into his chest. He wanted to share this feeling, this happiness that was making him giddy. "The thing is, Haru and I... we-" And he chanced a furtive look towards the man for whom he'd already fallen so desperately. Only to be met with a pair of alarmingly wide eyes and the unmistakable tension of fear gripping Haru's excessively pale face. "We, uh..." Makoto faltered, his stomach sinking instantly "um, well... we're going to be working on another project. Together" he improvised, feeling like maybe jumped the gun a little. And it was true that they hadn't really talked things through, but last night had ended so well, and now Makoto couldn't help but feel slightly dejected and confused.

"That's great honey" his mother enthused, although it was clear she'd picked up on his little waver as he smiled back a fraction insincerely. He'd never been any good at lying to his parents.

"You should make this one about me!" Ran rather forcefully suggested.

"And me!" Ren objected with a pout.

"Do you think you'd be able to draw it?" Ran ignored her brother's protests in favour of badgering Haru with her best doe eyed expression.

"Probably" the artist replied coolly, Makoto's eyes flicking over to find his usual composure restored.

"And me!" Ren piped up, nudging his sister in the side, and the pair of them were acting just like little kids even though they were already almost done with high school. Some things never changed.

Makoto watched as Haru obliged by picking out a leaflet from the menu, turning it over onto its blank side and fishing a little stubby pencil from the back pocket of his jeans. Quietly he began to sketch a couple of figures, a tenderhearted boy and a brazenfaced girl, and his siblings fell into a blessed silence, enraptured as Makoto had been so many times before them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {{{ I NEED YOUR ADVICE! }}}
> 
> So, I received a comment expressing major disappointment over the inclusion of the past RinHaru element, and asking if I might tag this work to reflect that. And whilst I get what the commenter means, and of course all comments and crits are thoroughly welcome - they really do help fic writers to keep writing and improve - I'm now feeling a little guilty about how I'd originally labeled this up and unsure about what I might cover in any future chapters. It's made me kind of hesitant in my usual scribblings, because now I'm second guessing myself, and so it becomes less and less appealing to sit down and open that wip chapter page. However, this isn't a rant or me deflecting blame for my already shamefully poor motivation, I'm just trying to be honest here. orz
> 
> First off, I really hate spoilers; in books, films, TV whatever and so I prefer to have only the barest amount of information given to me before starting out and getting invested in something, making up my own mind about what I think the most important plot points are. 
> 
> But I forget, in my quest to keep things vague, that not everyone is me. I like finding stuff out as I go along, but perhaps others might like to be forewarned about a certain theme, perhaps what I'm writing may have triggers for some that I haven't considered before. 
> 
> Therefore, I've updated the tags with this latest post, which I'd been meaning to do for a while anyway, but now I'm wondering whether I need to go a little further. I'm not going to tag RinHaru, as I think after a certain point there's not much angst to be found there, but do you think I need to highlight any of Haru's personal issues for example? Im super reluctant, because I still really don't want to give much away about the story if I continue, but the last thing I want is anyone else to get upset if they're not expecting it. Let me know what you think.
> 
> ALSO: On a different note, The Tokyo Stationary Museum is totally a real place! It's a little small and out of the way, but really quite interesting if you're a nerd and in to old style pencils and typewriters. Plus, they gave me a free biro just for looking around :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok wow. Thank you so much for those lovely messages of support and advice on that last chapter. All of you guys - readers, kudos leavers and commenters alike - you're all so wonderful and a credit to this awesome fandom. You left me feeling fluffy, so this happened. I hope you like it.

 

 

 

 

"Take care sweetheart"

"I will," Makoto managed to squeak from within the surprisingly restrictive grasp of his mother's hug, "I love you guys" he wheezed.

"Aww, love you too. Now have a think about New Year's" she said stepping back, straightening the collar on his black cotton shirt. "I don't want to pressure you if you've got other plans, although it'd be so lovely to see you. But visit anytime, of course, you know that right?"

"Yeah" Makoto smiled, scanning the comforting faces of his family, as they stood in the neatly paved, slightly chilly street outside the diner, about to go their separate ways.

"And it was lovely to meet you too Haru-kun" she turned to the artist, who'd been awkwardly hovering off to the side and attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible. "Thank you for taking such good care of Makoto," she said going in for a hug "please continue to look after him."

It was clear that Haru was unused to being quite so fervently coddled, much less mothered over by a woman he'd known for less than twenty four hours. It reminded Makoto of something Rin had said, about Haru's apparent unwitting ability to enthral and bewitch the housewives and mature ladies of the Greater Tokyo Area. Seems his skills applied to visitors too. He stood rigid, his arms plastered helplessly to his body as he was affectionately squeezed to within an inch of his life. His startled and slightly confused face turned to Makoto, a look that seemed to say 'a little help here?' But although the author could sympathise, and yes maybe it was a little embarrassing how quickly his family had taken to Haru, he really couldn't blame them, so instead he innocently shrugged and tried his very best not to grin too obviously.

"Um, thanks" Haru croaked once he was released, looking as shy as a little boy as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

"Well, we should get going" she sighed "there's a lot to see", Makoto's father nodding as he folded the map he'd been studying and used it to get the twin's attention, playfully rapping them each on the head with its slightly dog eared pages.

Makoto waved them off down the street, watching them go until they turned the corner, in search of the nearest metro station that would take them out across the city. He already missed them, a bittersweet nostalgia washing over him as he thought back to how it'd been growing up with his parents and his siblings around him, a constant in that lively, chaotic but love filled house in Iwatobi. But he was a grown-up now and times had moved on, his life was hundreds of miles away out here in Tokyo, though inwardly he knew that he'd already made them proud.

Haru shifted his feet somewhere behind him and Makoto turned back around, unable to stop himself from running his gaze appreciatively over the artist, probably the same way he'd been looking at him all morning, and indeed throughout the previous evening at Studio Free. He just couldn't quite believe that Haru was there with him.

"I'm sorry about my family" he grimaced "they can be pretty full on sometimes..."

"No" Haru corrected softly "they're great," his eyes clear and blue and honest.

"Yeah, they're that too" he laughed.

Almost a minute passed as they stood there in front of the diner, Makoto with his hands in his pockets, Haru idly kicking at little pebbles by the curb, the two of them exchanging little glances and even tinier smiles. The silence had never been this awkward between them before. Hell, they'd spent hours without talking when working together in Haru's quiet studio. But now, for some reason, Makoto felt an urgent need to fill that silence, to keep Haru engaged and there with him. He felt like a teenager again.

"Um," Makoto began, Haru's beautiful eyes shifting up from the ground expectantly "would... would you like to come back to my place?" He asked, only realising once the words were out of his mouth how much of a clichéd pick up line that sounded. "I mean, you know... not like... I'm not trying to...uh" He could feel his face starting to burn. "It's just that well I've seen yours, so I should show you mine. Oh god, that sounded-"

"Makoto" Haru thankfully interrupted before the author could dig himself any deeper, the slightest of smirks on his lips but his eyes glittering with barely restrained mirth. "Sounds good" he agreed simply.

 

As Makoto turned the key in his apartment door he was already going through a mental checklist of what possibly lay within, because although he could by no means be considered a slob, he hadn't actually planned on having any company either. He held the heavy metal door open for Haru - as was the gentlemanly thing to do - but as soon as the artist was in, Makoto was kicking off his shoes as hastily as a kid before a bouncy castle, sweeping through the open plan area that comprised his living room and kitchen, before Haru had begun to untie even a single set of laces.

"It's kind of small" Makoto stated redundantly, picking up the sprawl of papers and magazines that cascaded across the coffee table, before collecting an empty cereal bowl with rattling spoon from where it perched on the arm of the couch. "But the rent's fairly decent for round here" he continued "and I don't need much space" he said almost tripping over the slumbering hose of the vacuum cleaner as he made his way over to the sink. "It suits me just fine" he concluded, filling the bowl full of water. "So... can I get you some tea?" Makoto asked over his shoulder, eager to be the perfect little hostess, but instead spying a pair of his large dirty socks inexplicably lounging across the little kitchen table almost as if they were on holiday. He stuffed them into the nearest kitchen drawer.

"Tea would be good" Haru said calmly, only now setting his shoes down neatly by the door.

Makoto fished around in the kitchen whilst Haru took a seat on the couch, he was sure he had a box of green tea lurking around somewhere in the forgotten wastelands that were his kitchen cupboards, he seemed to remember getting some free with his latest phone upgrade, or maybe it was given to him at one of his many temp jobs. Either way, it was highly likely that whatever it was it'd be pretty low quality stuff, and Makoto realised he probably wasn't helping matters much as he made his way over to Haru with the two randomly mismatched mugs in his hands. It was indeed a far cry from the delicate handleless china teacups he'd been treated to at the artist's place.

"Here we go" he said a little hesitantly, setting the drinks down on the coffee table and taking a seat. One of the mugs was printed with a photo of a little grey kitten playing with a red ball of wool, the second had the words 'Best Big Brother!' emblazoned on the side, cartoon streamers and a stick man with a crown. Haru wisely chose the cat.

"What?" He looked up at Makoto after taking a sip, although there wasn't any irritation in his voice.

"N-no nothing" Makoto almost sighed through a smile, continuing to stare. Haru was here, in his apartment, sitting on his couch and drinking from his kitten mug. This was great. "I missed you" he blurted out suddenly, causing Haru to choke a little on his tea before lightly setting it back on the table.

"Yeah, I guess it has been a while" he conceded softly, his cheeks a little pink.

"But I'm so glad you came to the party last night, it meant a lot to me - even if it _was_ Gou who forced you to be there" and Haru bit down on his smirk and nodded, as if the author didn't even know the half of it. Makoto would have to find a way to thank his agent properly.

"I had fun. Today too" he said looking a little coy as he examined one of the chintzy throw pillows on the couch.

"Yeah, it was nice wasn't it?" but then Makoto's elated smile faded "I'm sorry about earlier at lunch, about putting you on the spot like that. I just didn't think."

"It's fine" Haru dismissed, taking in a lazy breath and exhaling deeply, as if needing the additional oxygen to fuel the wording of his thoughts. "It's fine, I could see what you're like with them. You're close, I get it." But then Haru seemed to curl in on himself almost imperceptibly, his arms folding across his chest and his fingers brushing the sleeves of his navy jumper, almost as if he'd suddenly caught a chill. "My own family..." Haru spoke the word as if he were somewhat unsure of its meaning "they didn't take the news quite so well as I think your parents might. Even though we were never so close, back then it was still pretty much the worst thing that had ever happened to me. To them" he scoffed bitterly.

He took another sip of his tea, but remained looking down into its clear green ripples, and in doing so purposely avoiding Makoto's concerned eyes as the steam caressed his pale skin. Haru had been through so much, and it was obvious in his face that he still lived it, each insult and derogatory comment staying with him, those words outlasting any physical bruises as they had simply faded away with time. He was dichotomy personified; so strong yet so vulnerable, so fiercely independent and yet so deeply affected by the opinions of others. And all of it was Haru.

"But," he seemed to steel himself, replacing his teacup on the coffee table though not quite returning Makoto's gaze. "Just because it was like that for me, it shouldn't have stopped you from being honest, if... If that's really how you feel" he blushed slightly "I'm sorry, for getting in the way-"

"No, Haru" Makoto reassured, scooting a little closer on the couch "it's not your fault, don't apologise." He wanted to hold him, but unlike the previous night they really needed to discuss things properly this time. "It was just me getting a little ahead of myself. I mean, we haven't really talked about any of this yet - and there's me, ready to blurt out goodness knows what in the middle of a busy restaurant. I'm an idiot" he chuckled.

"Hm" Haru concurred, with the smallest hint of a wry smile.

"So" Makoto continued, a little solemn but unable to stop himself from stroking his thumb across the back of Haru's hand "if you wanted to forget about all of this, pretend this never happened and go back to being just friends, then I'd... Um... I'd understand."

Makoto held his breath, the get-out clause hanging heavily in the stilted air between them. He wanted to take it back, to force Haru to stay, to prove himself worthy somehow. But it had to be Haru's decision.

"I didn't say that" the artist mumbled, his voice unsure but defiant.

"What did you-"

"I said," Haru pouted, finally looking Makoto in the eye "I didn't say I wanted to go back to being just friends."

"Oh" Makoto stared at him "okay. Yeah, that's... okay" he beamed. Makoto could feel his pulse begin to rise with excitement, recklessly pushing adrenaline and endorphins around in his jubilant bloodstream and making him feel dizzy. "So Haru," he tried to be calm but couldn't keep the delight from his expression, his fingers lacing between Haru's, his other hand sliding smoothly across the back of the couch. "Does that mean you'll go out with me?"

"I said that already didn't I?" Haru attempted to sound disgruntled, but their eyes had already locked as they searched each others faces.

"Can I kiss you?" Makoto asked, not needing to wait for an answer before slowly leaning in.

They stayed holding onto each other for what seemed like hours on end. Every time they pulled apart it meant that their eyes would reconnect, skimming down to focus on kiss swollen and glistening lips, temptation too much to withstand as the cycle began again. Makoto had Haru cornered against the arm of the couch as he nipped at his bottom lip and swallowed his sounds, their feet tangling together on the floor as he gently cupped the artist's face. By the time they'd tired themselves out, their crappy green tea had gone cold.

 

"So we're dating" Makoto thought out loud "exclusively. Together."

"That's generally how it works"

"Can I introduce you as my boyfriend?" He asked, as eager as a puppy and way too excited to register the artist's sardonic tone. But at that, Haru made a face, his anxiety and embarrassment accidentally peeking through. "Yeah ok..." Makoto chuckled as he brought him closer to his chest "maybe slow down on the public announcements huh?"

"Mmn" Haru said thoughtfully.

"So, boyfriend, want to watch a movie?" Makoto suggested happily, laughing as he received an unimpressed stare in return. "What?" He smiled "there's no one else here _right now_. And besides, I need to get used to it too. Boyfriend... It's _weird_ " he teased, as Haru jabbed him in the ribs.

They picked out a movie from the author's DVDs, both of them having already seen it but neither of them actually minding that much. Makoto raided the freezer for some ice cream, vanilla with chocolate swirls and tiny sprinkled almonds, Haru complained it was way too sweet, but they still managed to eat most of the carton. They began sitting side by side on the couch, but as the plot of the film developed, so Makoto found his arm drifting from the back of the couch to settle around the artist's shoulders - a classic cinema move, but satisfying nonetheless - and by the time the credits rolled Haru's head was resting sweetly in the crook of Makoto's neck. He could almost have fallen asleep like that.

"It's late" Makoto observed as the title menu returned to the screen, causing Haru to jolt upright looking adorably groggy, seemed someone had been napping after all. "You can stay the night if you like" he offered, again realising too late the connotations of his phase. "Ah! I mean, I-I'm not trying to seduce you... Oh my god, did I just say the word seduce!?"

"It's fine" Haru yawned "I know what you meant. And thanks."

"Good" Makoto sighed with relief "you can sleep in my bed" he pointed towards his room "-and I'll sleep out here. Obviously" he added quickly. Man, he really needed to start thinking before he spoke.

"Makoto, I can't take your bed. I'll just have the couch."

"But you're the guest" Makoto whined, his ingrained good manners feeling unsettled.

"You slept on my couch remember?" Haru's eyebrow arched with challenge.

"Yeah, because I was practically unconscious. And besides," he added a little bashfully "we weren't going out back then."

"Hm, okay" Haru relented, causing Makoto to smile in his victory "if it's because we're going out, I guess we can share a bed" causing Makoto's smile to falter "just for sleeping. Obviously" and with that the artist stood and stretched, before padding his way towards the bedroom.

"O-okay" Makoto stammered, following sheepishly behind.

Haru was already under the covers by the time Makoto had finished turning off the TV and the lights in the living room, and he could only just make out the shape of his back in the darkness of the room. He was kind of glad that Haru wasn't facing him, feeling a little self conscious as he stripped himself of his cotton shirt, socks and jeans, leaving his tshirt on even though he normally wouldn't. It was strange to be nervous, he'd undressed in front of Haru before, when he'd swapped into that overall in Haru's studio to help with the exhibition. Had things really already changed so much?

Makoto carefully slipped under the duvet causing the mattress to dip and creak, instantly feeling the warmth of Haru's body as he lay down beside him, and suddenly it hit him how long it'd been since he'd shared a bed with anyone. He listened to Haru's quiet breathing, watched the covers slight rise and fall, and smiled at the way his dark hair fanned out against the pillow.

"Makoto... Go to sleep."

"-yep, ok."

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

 

It was the second time Makoto had woken up to find Haru within his line of sight. However, unlike the disorientated confusion and the steadily mounting nauseous hangover he'd experienced the first time round, now he only felt a giddy sense of peace wash over him as he smiled a dopey smile, letting his bleary eyes adjust to the soft morning light already soaking in through the too thin material of the curtains.

Also unlike last time, they were sharing a bed, _his_ bed, and Haru was still asleep. The artist had evidently rolled over during the night, and although technically they weren't actually touching, they'd both seemed to gravitate towards the centre of the mattress, curling in close as if subconsciously searching each other out. Makoto watched as Haru's eyelids lightly fluttered, he appeared to be dreaming, a slight furrow to his brow and the occasional soft little noise from the back of his throat that had Makoto melting at how obliviously cute he was being.

His usually sleek hair was adorably messy where he lay slightly lower down on his pillow, and if Makoto edged a fraction closer he could've rested his chin on the top of Haru's head, wrapped his arm over his waist and pulled him snugly in, no doubt fitting perfectly against him. But he didn't, because as tempting as that sounded there was just something nice about how they were right now, and besides this way he was able to see Haru's face.

It was as if he were one of his own skilful paintings; the glow of his skin set against his dark stormy locks, his beautiful bone structure and deceptively athletic frame, even the very positioning of his limbs seemed somehow picturesque. And yes, it may well have been considered clichéd to compare a person to a piece of art, but right there in that sweet drowsy moment Makoto thought he was willing to take that fall, and perhaps now he understood how someone could sit alone in a gallery and just stare at a single painting all day.

But as willing as he was to allow time itself to simply cease in its tracks, unfortunately it wasn't to be, as only a few minutes later his phone rudely interrupted his peaceful study session with an annoyingly shrill ringtone, crudely accompanied by loud jarring vibrations that had Makoto scrambling and flailing in his attempts to shut it off.

"H-hello?" He croaked into the receiver, having not had time to check who was calling.

"Hey there Makoto, are you alright?" Gou enquired in an all too chirpy voice for first thing in the morning.

"Uh, yeah" he replied in a slightly hushed tone as he turned back from the nightstand, hoping the noise hadn't disturbed the sleeping artist.

Haru was shifting a little, his scowl deepening and his lips pouting ever so slightly. It made Makoto want to kiss him.

"-up?"

"Huh?" he snapped out of his daze, reminding himself to actually listen to his agent.

"I was asking if I'd just woken you up, but I think you've already answered my question" she laughed, and then sighed melodramatically "oh what it must be like for you artistic types; still sleeping soundly at nearly half past eleven on a Monday morning..."

"Is that what time it is?" He asked a little surprised, instinctively pulling the phone away from his ear to check its little clock. It was the latest he'd slept in for weeks.

Just then Haru took a sharp intake of breath through his nose and his hand came up from the sheets to swipe at his face, reminding Makoto not for the first time of a kitten. Inevitably, one sleepy blue eye peeked open, taking a couple of seconds to focus as the author smiled dotingly and then silently mouthed the word 'morning'.

"-even listening to me?"

"What? Yeah of course, sorry Gou-san, it's just all been so crazy lately..." he said trailing off, watching Haru stretch still lying in place under the blankets.

"I suppose it has" she conceded "but so is that okay with you?"

"Um, yeah that's fine" he bluffed, sitting back against the headboard and lifting the hand he'd been propping himself up with to comb through his choppy brown hair.

"Perfect, I'll just email the interviewer now..." and Makoto could hear her typing down the line "wonderful!" She sounded pretty pleased, but sadly he had no idea what she was talking about. "Time Out Tokyo is great exposure, and so soon after the book launch too. Right, so I've scheduled you in for two o'clock this afternoon..."

"G-great" he faked his enthusiasm through his teeth.

"Great!" she repeated, a little more excitedly. "Oh, and if you happen to know where you can get your hands on Haru it'd be really helpful if you could let him know, I've tried all the usual places but I'm not having any luck. He's probably off sketching somewhere, you know how he is, but I think the article needs to be about the both of you." Makoto heard a phone and what sounded like Rei's voice in the background, Gou subsequently cursing under her breath "okay, I need to take this, so can I leave getting a hold of Haru up to you?"

"Um sure" Makoto squeaked, looking down at the artist who was now lying flat on his stomach, his head cradled in his folded arms "shouldn't be too hard to track him down."

"Thanks. See you at two" and then the line went dead.

Makoto stared blankly at his phone's gradually darkening screen for a long silent moment, before gracelessly flopping back down onto the mattress, the resultant puff of air causing Haru's unkempt fringe to be ruffled.

"Hi" he said warmly, turning onto his side and leaning up on his elbow, resting his temple in his palm.

"Hi" Haru yawned back, his eyes still a little heavy but staying open now that Makoto had finished with his call.

It was undeniably intimate, waking up side by side as they were, sharing their body heat under the crisp white cotton sheets of Makoto's own double bed. But along with the predictably exhilarating undercurrent of being so physically close in a rather provocative situation, there was also just a simple innocent comfort in having the artist there with him. It reminded Makoto of cosy sleepovers with childhood friends.

"That was Kou" Haru stated rather than questioned, breaking the silence and the mutual admiring gaze that had lasted a few seconds too long.

"It was" Makoto confirmed a little guiltily "and I may have accidentally agreed to us going in to be interviewed this afternoon" he said, attempting to look penitent.

"Tch" Haru rolled his eyes, but didn't seem particularly annoyed.

Makoto hummed his apology and dipped his head to go in for a conciliatory kiss, but just before he could lay one on him Haru pushed his face away with his hand.

"I haven't brushed my teeth" he complained in all his deadpan seriousness, an almost comical degree of modesty that had Makoto grinning against the slender fingers still pressed against his lips.

Haru grumbled as he rolled away from him, sitting up and sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, the blankets falling away from him as he lethargically stood up and paused to stretch some more.

It was only then that Makoto actually took notice of what Haru had been wearing. He had on a basic dark grey racer-back tank top that must've been layered beneath his navy jumper, it was relatively fitted and showcased his slim waist and subtly muscular arms rather nicely. However, what really caught Makoto's attention was the pair of short, practically skin tight boxer-briefs that barely covered Haru's lower half, the soft black material dotted all over with tiny blue fish. In fact the author was only glad he'd not caught a glimpse of him before going to bed the previous night, else it was entirely possible he wouldn't have been able to fall asleep quite so easily.

He was understandably transfixed by the way the fine patterned fabric clung to Haru's hips and thighs, the hypnotically inviting curve of his rear. Though he probably stared a little _too_ long, as gradually Makoto became aware of the presence of a set of eyes on him, and he realised with a cold creeping sweat that the artist was looking down at him - watching him watch his ass.

He slowly raised his line of sight up towards Haru's face, fully expecting the atmosphere to be awkward as hell or at least to gat scolded for his blatant ogling, but to his surprise found only an amused little smile tugging lightly at his lips. It could almost have been considered flirtatious.

"Where're you going?" Makoto whined as Haru shook his head and made his way to the door, realising too late how pathetically clingy that must've sounded.

"Shower" Haru reassured simply, his usual easygoing persona already back in place.

 

A few hours later, as promised, they were stepping out of the small shiny elevator at the Future Fish headquarters, making their way over to the far corner of the office where Gou was waiting to brief them on the interview.

No one had so much as questioned the fact that they'd just arrived together, even though Makoto had mentally prepared a somewhat convoluted explanation of how he'd managed to find Haru's whereabouts, going so far as to have several backup excuses if he was questioned any further. Perhaps he was merely being paranoid, but he was just mindful of Haru wanting to keep their relationship private for the time being, and he really didn't want anything to jeopardise this new sense of hopeful excitement he could already feel shimmering beneath his skin.

"Other side" Gou singsonged as Makoto lay his hand on the back of one of the now familiar tall brown leather chairs in the boardroom, "of the table" she clarified when she was met by a pair of questioning faces. "Visitors sit by the door, you guys should be seated on the other side - with the view behind you" she gestured towards the large glass wall. "It's just one of those psychological tricks they teach you at business school" she explained, before stepping out of the room to sign off on some paperwork being waved at her by Nagisa.

Makoto hadn't felt particularly nervous right up until that point, making his way around the large cherrywood table, taking his higher status position all in accordance with some kind of subliminal corporate strategy.

He'd done press interviews at the launch party, but somehow they'd seemed a little more relaxed, maybe it'd been the party atmosphere or the fact that the majority of them were for relatively small-time artsy publications. Now that he thought about it, Time Out Tokyo was pretty big, he'd seen the free magazine in metro stations and cafes, and if he made a good impression this piece could help them reach a substantially wider audience. He was somewhat regretting his choice of Veltpunch tshirt.

Haru cleared his throat, reaching across the table from where he was sitting next to Makoto and blatantly commandeering a small pad of paper and a pen, from where it was presumably placed for the taking of notes. After a second or two of assessing the canvas he began idly sketching rough little figures and rows of crosshatched buildings in the scratchy black ink, scenes that Makoto thought maybe he recognised from the streets around Ueno Park - Haru's little area of the city, and subsequently a place Makoto now loved to visit.

Everything about the artist, from his peaceful aura to his gentle mannerisms, were telling Makoto just to calm down and breathe. He conveyed it without words or even having to look at the author, and as Makoto continued to watch him doodle he found himself relaxing, the tension draining away as the page was slowly filled. It reminded him of the time that Haru had drawn him a map, and he absently wondered if he might be able to keep these too.

"Sorry for the wait" Gou apologised as she bustled back into the room "this is Hanamura Chigusa from the magazine, now, let's get started shall we?" She proposed, pulling a chair out for the guest and sitting herself down next to her.

The reporter actually came across as being quite friendly; She had kind looking dark jade eyes that squinted sincerely when she smiled, her mousy hair piled neatly and held in place with little decorative pins. From first impressions she was possibly a little younger than the author, and although she seemed very professional, she was maybe not as straightforward and businesslike as Makoto had expected. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

After the customary introductions and a brief volley of chitchat - including Hanamura-san's compliments on Makoto's choice of band shirt - the interview proper finally got under way. There were the usual types of questions that Makoto had answered before, things like where they were from and what was the inspiration behind the book. But there were also several topics that he hadn't quite banked on, most of them somehow pertaining to Haru.

Makoto realised when he was recounting the story of how he'd chosen Haru as his illustrator - about the instant connection he'd felt and the split second it had taken for him to make up his mind - that he hadn't ever said it all out loud before, much less to the artist himself. But it wasn't even that he was embarrassed so much, it was more that he had to stop himself from constantly checking on Haru's reactions to his rather overbearing confession.

"Yes, the artwork really is special" Hanamura-san nodded along in emphatic agreement, her eyes taking note of Haru's abandoned sketch pad as her pen then subtly did the same. "I know it's hard to decide, but in the book, which one of Nanase-san's pictures is your favourite?"

And Makoto was a total dumbass. He still hadn't read his own book, and in his mind he was banging his head repeatedly against the table for not having looked at it before coming out to be interviewed.

"The. The cover" he managed to push the sound awkwardly from his throat, and now there was nothing in the world that could've made him turn his head to see Haru's reaction.

It possibly wasn't even a lie, the cover was indeed stunningly breathtaking, but obviously his comparisons were severely limited. Luckily he was able to string a few words together about how it reminded him of where he grew up and how the colour palette was just right for the tone of the story. Again, not a lie, but it did take him a few minutes to get back into the stride of answering questions naturally.

However for his part, the artist's answers were calm and concise, saying just enough so as not to come across as rude or abrupt, but not elaborating any more than was strictly necessary. The way he talked about their working processes had Makoto's ears pricking up and his chest puffing out, and by the end he was so enthralled he could've watched Haru talk for the rest of the day.

"Thank you, I've got some great material to work with" the reporter smiled as she packed her things into her yellow patent satchel. "And nice meeting the both of you" she bowed slightly before making her way out of the boardroom, followed by Gou who turned to give them a satisfied nod of a job well done.

The author sighed in relief as he sat back in his chair. Obviously he knew that doing publicity stuff was an essential part of the literary business, and whilst it really was great that people were starting to take an interest, it didn't make the intrusive interviews any easier for a newbie such as himself. Haru had seemed to cope with it just fine, though admittedly he'd probably already dealt with more than his fair share of reporters in his time. Nonetheless, Makoto definitely preferred having the artist with him, even if in the end he didn't actually say very much.

"So, what do you want to d-"

"Makoto" Haru interrupted evenly, his downcast eyes watching his hands where they rested on the table. "What is it?"

"Um... no, I was just going to ask whether you wanted to go-"

"Not that" he said in the same cautious tone. "When she asked you about the artwork... you were tense. If there was something wrong, if you didn't like them-"

"No! God no, Haru that's not... that could never be the reason" Makoto fumbled his reassurance, instantly picking up on Haru's anxiety and realising that the artist had evidently read him too.

"Then, what is the reason?"

"I..." Makoto resigned himself to the fact he was going to have to be honest, no matter how embarrassing it was or how weird he'd come across, because the last thing he wanted was Haru thinking he'd done something wrong. "I haven't actually seen the artwork" he explained slowly, wincing as he watched the impact of his words reflect on Haru's features. "I have seen the cover though. It's beautiful" he added almost apologetically, as Haru continued to search his face in confusion.

"You haven't seen... what do you mean you haven't seen the artwork? I brought them here myself" he said looking adorably perplexed, absently tapping their location with his fingers on the table. "Gou said she would-"

"Yeah I know" the author admitted sheepishly "I decided not to look."

"What the hell Makoto" Haru uttered under his breath as he justly sat back in shock, his eyes a little unfocused. "That's so stupid."

"I know" Makoto grumbled as he scrubbed the creases in his brow, because really in hindsight it hadn't been the smartest decision he'd ever made.

"No, I mean that's really fucking stupid. What were you thinking?" Haru frowned with exasperation, the rare expletive causing the author to bite his bottom lip with guilt. "That's too reckless. You worked so hard on this book, I saw it. And then what, suddenly you don't care?"

"Haru" Makoto implored, swallowing hard as he tried to figure out how to make him understand. "It's not that I didn't care" he angled his seat towards the artist, cheeks colouring just a little as he earnestly sought out his eye contact. "When you left - _wait just hear me out_ " he quickly appealed when he sensed Haru's impending objection, "when you were gone, I guess I didn't cope very well."

"...Sorry" Haru whispered.

"It's fine" he smiled awkwardly, finally giving in to the urge to gently stroke the hair from Haru's eyes. "I just missed you so much, and by the end of it, I felt like I couldn't handle seeing your paintings without you. I'm not sure if that makes any sense, I can't really explain it."

"Hmm" the artist hummed, subconsciously leaning in to Makoto's hand, which had long since given up the pretence of adjusting his bangs. "Still stupid."

"I know" the author chuckled, feeling the stress of the last few months finally drifting away with his breath. "But I trust you. I knew you'd come up with something amazing."

"You shouldn't have" Haru said seriously. "The book turned out fine, more than fine, but you shouldn't have gambled like that. Over someone like me."

"Hey" Makoto admonished softly "you still don't get it do you?"

He pulled on the arm of Haru's swivel chair to manoeuvre him a few more degrees head on, their knees and feet threading together rather intimately in the process. Haru looked a little apprehensive as Makoto focused in on him, the impressive city vista fading away as the author placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, his thumb caressing little circles at the juncture of his neck.

"I know what I did was really stupid and unprofessional, and I shouldn't have neglected any part of something we've both worked so hard for. But you have to understand, ever since I met you... Haru, what you are to me..." Makoto took a breath, his eyes burning into Haru's in an attempt to convey the depth of his emotion. "You just belong with me Haru, and I'm sorry if that sounds demanding, but that's how you make me feel. You make me want to be so selfish" he laughed "and I feel bad for that, I do, but I can't help it." And then he willed himself to stop rambling lest he completely freak the guy out, because honestly he could've talked on the merits of Nanase Haruka for hours. "I just... what I said the other night, in the studio, I meant it. And I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I'm in lo-"

"I know" Haru cut in, catching hold of Makoto's wrist where his hand still lay on the artist's shoulder, his eyes cast to the side and a furious blush to his cheekbones. "I believe you" he muttered with a downright heartwarming shyness, briefly flicking his gaze up to meet Makoto's eyes before looking away again. "But, it might take some time for me to say something like that."

"Fine" Makoto beamed "all I want is your time."

"Knock knock" came the very last voice that Makoto wanted to hear, his verbal forewarning proving redundant as his stupid pink head was already intruding around the door frame. "Sorry to interrupt" Shigino purred smugly as the author dropped his had from Haru's shoulder "I heard you two were here today, and Haruka I thought I'd better let you know that you might want to grab your things from the penthouse. Tanaka's insisting on doing a clear out before the new year season, and you know how thorough the old guy can be" he rolled his eyes. "I swear I lose about half of my wardrobe every time. You still have your key? I noticed you haven't been back in a few days..."

"It's fine. I've got it" Haru muttered quietly, and when Makoto turned to look at him in confusion, he found the artist oddly reluctant to meet his eye.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so this took super long to get done. Since the time of my last post here I've been ill with an evil cold, had a birthday and ensuing two-day-long hangover from hell, and then my precious iPad snuffed it - the last one being depressingly traumatic for a massive loser such as myself. 
> 
> Therefore this big-ass chapter was written almost exclusively on my phone, which isn't really ideal and not the way I prefer to work. So I hope this isn't too disjointed or out of character, but an old bird like me doesn't react well to change, and I found it quite hard to reconnect with the narrative when writing on a completely different device that had no real history with this story. That sounds weird and possibly mildly pretentious, but I can't really explain it any other way. Sozza. 
> 
> Time Out Tokyo is written in English - or at least was the version that I picked up whilst in Japan, and I'm just way too lazy to even google whether they do a Japanese language edition, or indeed the names of any equivalent publications. 
> 
> I stole Tanaka from Kuroshitsuji. 
> 
> Also, I've just noticed my dialogue seems to be full of people interrupting each other or characters barging in from other rooms. Reminds me of an Eddie Izzard sketch about the difference between British and American movies - 'A Room With A View: OF HELL'. Haha... I think I better go.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly felt The Block this past month, so hope this okay.

 

 

 

 

"Penthouse?" Makoto asked flatly, slipping his hands into his pockets as the claustrophobic elevator began to move, his posture feeling stiff and unnatural as he watched the artist avoid him in the shiny mirrored doors.

"Nn" Haru nodded only once.

Makoto's jaw set as the silence returned, he didn't want to come across as being judgmental or overly intrusive, things had just started going so well between them, and it was a little too early to start getting all annoyed and possessive. But his mind was working overtime trying to think of a viable reason for the exchange he'd witnessed in the boardroom, and he could practically feel the reluctant waves of irritation and doubt already rolling off his skin like dark pernicious steam.

"The way Shigino talked" Haru began quietly "the way he said that made it sound like-"

"Like you're living together" Makoto provided unequivocally, "like you're some kind of couple" he added as he tried to keep the disappointed accusation from his tone.

"It's not like that" Haru said simply, his voice all soft and tired.

Makoto sighed as he turned to look at the artist directly, instead of trying to communicate through just his metallic reflection. He noticed how closed off Haru was starting to become, how even his hands had retreated into the sleeves of his jumper so that now all Makoto could see of them were the tips of his fingers where they gripped at the cuff.

The doors slid open with a cheerful little ping, the quiet ambiance of the lobby outside slowly replacing the overhead fluorescence with it's softer, more natural light. And the pair of them stood voiceless And motionless for a long few seconds, before slowly Haru's eyes swept up to the author's face, his expression eerily reminiscent of a nervous rescue dog anticipating a punishment.

But Makoto simply tipped his head to one side, his eyes staying calm though his stomach was twisted in knots. He couldn't quite bring himself to smile as he usually did, but he hoped that Haru would pick up on his willingness to listen, his desire for a simple explanation.

The doors attempted to close on them again, but Makoto reached across and placed his hand around one edge to block the sensor, his gaze remaining soft yet unflinching as he calmly waited.

"It's across town" Haru eventually disclosed, before finally stepping over the threshold of the elevator and out onto the polished marble flooring of the lobby, resolutely making his way towards the large revolving exit constructed of glass and shining steel.

Granted, it wasn't a particularly thorough explanation, but by now Makoto had learned that as with most things concerning Haru, his actions spoke louder than words, and he could sense the implicit invitation.

"O-okay" he accepted blindly, before jogging to catch him up.

 

The metro ride was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet to the anxious silence that had swamped them with unease back there in the tiny elevator, because this time Makoto could somehow tell that this particular brand of taciturn hush was only because Haru was thinking.

They were sitting next to each other in their peaceful, virtually empty carriage, the gentle rocking motion occasionally causing Makoto's left knee in its baggy faded denim to nudge against Haru's in his skinny indigo jeans. The author kept his hands to himself, but every so often their shoulders would bump against each other too, and it was hopelessly reassuring that Haru didn't feel the need to move away.

Makoto spent a while idly studying the lines and stations of the complicated metro map that was pasted above the parallel bank of seats. He was still fairly new to Tokyo's rather impressive transport network, and although to a certain extent he could make his way around due to all the temping he'd done, it was still a little daunting when he was traversing completely uncharted territory. Though of course, Haru was familiar with their route.

His gaze wondered to the various advertisements plastered high on the carriage walls and on little panels by the doors, where there were posters for everything from dog groomers and department stores to the latest mobile phone package, each competing shamelessly for the attention of their captive audience. It reminded Makoto of just how differently life was paced here in the big city as opposed to back in sleepy Iwatobi, although strangely he didn't seem to mind the bustle so much as he used to.

At that moment they passed from a brightly lit station into a dark swerving tunnel with a sudden jolt, and Makoto's eyes met with Haru's in the reflection of the blacked out window opposite, lingering for a split second before the artist looked away. He seemed a little embarrassed, and Makoto found himself suppressing a smile as he noticed a slight warmth to Haru's cheeks in the darkened glass, a vast improvement to that cold insular echo mirrored back in the elevator door less than a half an hour previous.

They changed trains once, heading south on the Oedo line, eventually alighting and surfacing into a rather posh looking station. Makoto had obviously heard of Roppongi before, it was famous for its nightclubs and luxury shopping malls, but his humble budget and less than rock n' roll lifestyle had never given him cause to visit there before - however, all things considered its flamboyant reputation actually suited Shigino down to the ground.

They walked for less than ten minutes before the artist slowed his pace, a little nod and a blink towards their intended destination, now only a few more metres down the road. Makoto could tell that Haru's resolve was starting to flag as they neared the indicated building, a stubbornness to his movements like those of a little kid on his way to school, not quite wanting the journey to end.

And then there it was - The Sakurazaka, a tower of an apartment block, which again seemed fittingly grandiose - the sleek architectural design, the inoffensive abstract art in the foyer that appeared to be originals rather than prints and which were no doubt appallingly expensive, the signs around the reception pointing to various outlandish amenities such as private gyms, hot spa's and even pet washing facilities. Unsurprisingly Makoto felt completely out of place as he trailed in after the artist, his eyes as big as saucers although silently hating himself for it; he'd never felt so much of a country boy in his life.

Upon reaching the penthouse level on the top floor Makoto found the luxurious velvety red carpet softer than a manicured lawn beneath his scruffy pair of Vans, the faint smell of furniture polish and fresh floral arrangements tickling his nose as the scent permeated the stuffy air of the private hallway. They passed by a small concierge station, where a grey haired man in an immaculate suit stood to greet them from behind his desk, Haru remaining unfazed as he acknowledged him with a simple nod, Makoto smiling politely, before self consciously peering back over his shoulder as he waited whilst Haru unlocked the door. The door who's nameplate read 'Shigino'.

And it was like something from a movie set or a celebrity magazine. Inside the spacious interior was brightly lit with permanent accent lighting and large panoramic windows, and just like the publicist's office it was crammed with achingly pretentious art pieces and loud gimmicky furniture. The decor was styled in a very modern, very western aesthetic, with enormous white leather sofas that could easily have seated dozens of people, an expansive flat screen television connected to other high tech devices and an open plan kitchen built in marble and brushed stainless steel. It didn't suit Haru at all.

"It's... nice" Makoto said a little unconvincingly as he stepped a few more feet into the room to look around. Perhaps he should've been impressed by the scale or the obvious cost, but honestly it was all a little tasteless. "Yeah, it's very... wow" he concluded as he feigned his enthusiasm.

"It's gaudy. I know" Haru smirked for the first time in hours "this part is shigino's place, my suite is upstairs" and he motioned towards a previously unnoticed staircase to the right of the lavishly furnished seating area.

Makoto felt a small amount of relief settle some of the tightness in his stomach as he followed behind the artist once again, because it was nice to know that at least they weren't actually sharing the living space directly. Although, as the treads of the stairs creaked beneath the author's feet he noted with unease that Haru would need to pass through the main apartment to get to and from his own quarters, and furthermore Shigino had indeed questioned his recent spate of absence. It all felt a little off.

Haru unlocked the door that stood alone on the small mezzanine level, stepping through and holding it open, gesturing for Makoto to step inside.

Predictably, Haru's space was a much more simple affair, it was smaller with a less flashy kitchen and living room area, and most of the furniture was made out of wood instead of metal, although admittedly it was all probably still quite expensive. The dark blue curtains were kept drawn to block out the city, the only source of light streaming in from a section of glass in the lofty high ceiling.

"What?" Haru asked quietly, half curious and half defensive as he stood waiting for him to come further into the room.

"Hm?" Makoto questioned, as he refocused on his host.

"You're smiling" he pointed out.  

"Am I?" the author touched his lips with his fingers "no, I just... this one seems a lot more like Haru" and he continued to smile as Haru flustered and huffed his way over to the kitchen.

"Tea?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

Makoto took a seat on the couch, by now knowing better than to ask permission when it came to Haru, and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees he examined several large pieces of sketch paper that lay scattered on the coffee table in front of him. They were mostly pencil studies of parks and scenic cityscapes, but amongst them were multiple detailed drawings of a vibrant bustling fish market, this time lightly coloured with a palette of silvery blues, pastel orange and green.

"These are great" Makoto said almost to himself as Haru poured the boiling water from the kettle into a squat little cast iron teapot.

"It's nothing special" Haru shrugged as he glanced over his shoulder "they're just places I've been hanging out over the last few weeks" he dismissed, as he assembled the cups onto the tray.

"Whilst you were avoiding me?" Makoto questioned, really only half joking.

Haru faltered a step as he was making his way over to set the tea tray down, his gaze set firmly off to the side and right then Makoto couldn't help but feel rather guilty.

"Sorry, that was uncalled for-"

"No it's fine" Haru admitted as he knelt on the carpeted floor "it's true" he said quietly, watching the stream of hot liquid as he calmly poured out their tea.

"Why?" Makoto asked softly "why did you do that?" because all of a sudden he really needed to know.

"I..." Haru searched Makoto's face, desperately striving for a way to explain himself "I don't know" he deflated, before biting his lip and getting to his feet. "I need to pack my things."

Makoto sighed as he leaned back on the couch and Haru went into the next room, presumably his bedroom, the only sound the click of a light switch and the scraping of drawers along their runners.

He knew he couldn't force it, that Haru would only clam up and withdraw if he pressed the subject further. And perhaps, he realised, it was enough just to have the artist there, that maybe it would all come out in due time, or maybe it would cease to matter at all.

"Need a hand?" Makoto called brightly as he manoeuvred himself upright, smiling as Haru came out of his room holding a backpack in one hand and a pillow in the other.

"Okay" and Haru looked a little bit relieved "um, there's some art supplies over there" he pointed towards the small elegant dining table.

"Got it" he nodded, and then grinned. "Is that your favourite pillow?" He teased, causing Haru to look down at the object in his hand, and promptly throw it to hit the author across the face.

Makoto chuckled to himself as he began putting pencils and erasers back in their respective tins and cases, he piled the sheets of impressive doodles and reference materials into folders and little ziplock wallets, all the while enjoying the chance of having a sneak peek at Haru's creative mind.

He'd pretty much cleared up when he spied some paper lying face down on one of the wooden dining chairs, and not wanting to miss any artwork he casually scooped it up, turning it over so he could slip it in to one of the folders.

But as his eyes fleetingly skimmed the document in his hands he found that rather than a series of forgotten sketches, instead he'd discovered the sales brochure for the apartment in which he was currently standing.

It had full colour photos of the annex when it'd been empty, the sales date on the cover from several years ago, the Shigino company logo of a fox emblazoned across the top.

It seemed the publicist most likely owned the property outright - although he must've pulled in some favours to acquire it, the asking price set well over fifty million yen. Makoto got the feeling that Shigino probably intended for Haru to know how much it cost.

The artist returned from where he'd been clearing out the bathroom, and Makoto slipped the brochure back onto the chair unnoticed, turning to watch as Haru sat down on the couch and picked up his tea.

"I'm glad you're moving back home" Makoto blurted out, causing Haru to look at him quizzically.

"You just don't want me to have a nicer place than you" he retorted dryly, knocking back his now cooled drink in one.

"Its not that" Makoto protested sheepishly, missing the joke somewhat "I just don't like that Shigino gets to be so close to you. It's not fair" he pouted, with an equal measure of embarrassment and honesty.

Haru gulped his mouthful of tea, setting the cup down slowly on the table. He looked kind of shocked, like he couldn't figure out a response to such a bold and sudden confession, and when he didn't make any reply Makoto thought that maybe he'd said too much.

"How do you do it?" Haru asked flatly after the long silence, all the humour having somehow drained from his voice. "How do you talk about these things so easily? You're so open, I can't..." and he looked to the expensively skylighted ceiling in search of some kind of clarity. "How do you decide one day that you're just going to start liking men? And you're somehow fine with that" he stated like it was all one giant cryptic puzzle, his sad blue eyes appealing to Makoto to provide him with just one magic answer to all of his insecurities.

The author sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He felt the pain in Haru's tone, how lost he must feel and how desperate he must be for any kind of understanding, that he would even allow himself to be vulnerable enough to ask him such a question said a lot.

"I've always been a talker" Makoto admitted simply as he leant against the oak dining table, his arms folding across his chest in thought. "If I need to fix a problem I'll talk to myself or whoever's there to listen, if I'm feeling awkward or bored I'll just ramble on about any old junk, but I guess you'd already know about that one" he smiled. "I think I get that from my parents, we're a noisy family like that. And sometimes I just can't help saying how I feel, even if maybe I shouldn't."

As Haru silently considered his answer Makoto fidgeted with a loose thread that poked out from the seam on his plaid shirt collar. He wanted to try and make sense, to come up with something useful at least.

"But it's not like I don't have any flaws or issues of my own" he began, chuckling at the way that Haru's brow lifted in disbelief. "It's true" he confessed "like... I don't know, sometimes I feel guilty for having fun or doing something just for me" he said a little more seriously, because he'd never actually been this honest about himself with anyone before. "Sometimes I think because my life's been pretty good so far, and that I've had so much already that I don't deserve to ask for any more-" and he smiled at the way a little puff of air escaped from Haru's lips, like he found the whole idea preposterous. "I know, it's stupid." He shook his head. "But is it any more ridiculous than you thinking you don't deserve your happiness either?"

"But that's because I-"

"No Haru" Makoto disagreed softly "you had it rough, and I'm so sorry about that, but it wasn't your fault. You didn't choose that. And you did the best you could."

Haru self consciously brought his hand up to his face, first tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and then brushing his knuckles slowly back and forth across his lips, almost as if the action was helping him to comprehend the author's words. Makoto only hoped that he'd believe them.

"And I didn't just suddenly decide to like men" he continued, trying not to get distracted by the admission which sounded strange coming from his own mouth, spoken in his own voice. "It wasn't a conscious decision, and anyway I don't really see it like that - I don't like 'men', I like Haru" and he couldn't help but grin at the way the artist rolled his eyes. "I hadn't planned on it, or even thought about it before I met you. And obviously I've got no idea what I'm doing which, yeah is terrifying, but that doesn't really matter as long as I get to spend time with you. It just kind of happened, like you didn't choose it either, and I suppose I just got lucky that's all" and then he balked "ah, when I say I got lucky, that's not a euphemism for-"

"I know" Haru said as he nibbled on the edge of his thumb, mercifully still a little too deep in his thoughts to have really registered Makoto's embarrassing double entendre. "I just..." and then he went quiet again, the pause stretching out as he seemed to try to find the right words.

Haru swallowed harshly, Makoto intuitively uncrossing his arms and after exhaling a shallow breath in consideration closed the short distance across the room, casually sitting down next to him and patiently waiting for the artist to speak.

"In the beginning" he finally spoke "I liked the idea that my parents wouldn't approve. We never really got on, so it was almost a bonus..." he drifted off, but Makoto got the idea.

"Because you were seventeen," he explained kindly yet a little exasperated, the author slowly realising that this long held sense of guilt was most likely at the very centre of Haru's own crippling self-blame. "Plenty of kids do stuff to piss their parents off, it doesn't mean they should be disowned. Not for something like this."

Haru looked as if that thought had never actually occurred to him before, that perhaps it wasn't entirely his own fault, that maybe he shouldn't have been judged and sentenced for the actions of a child. His brow furrowed and his now distant eyes darted back through tangents of old memories, shedding a differentlight on old wounds.

"Besides" Makoto persevered a little less confidently "I don't know why anyone would want to change the way you are. I like everything about you" he said truthfully, his hopeful gaze nervously studying the side of Haru's face.

It took the artist several moments to resurface from the hazardous fog of his own dark thoughts, his body slowly turning towards the author where they were sitting rather close together on the couch, his expressive blue eyes the very last to align in his direction. Makoto instinctively tried to read them, finding something oddly close to gratitude and amusement and wonder in their depths.

And then it happened almost in slow motion. Haru gently angled his head to one side, his delicate fingers resting lightly on Makoto's knee as he tilted his body forward and his soft lips made tentative contact, his eyelids fluttering closed as he bestowed the unsuspecting author with the very sweetest of chaste kisses.

Makoto was pathetically stunned for the duration of those proceeding few seconds, but after all, this was the first time Haru had initiated any form of physical affection, and that slow realisation sent bright electric shivers skating across the back of his neck, down his arms and out to his twitching fingertips.

And then Makoto finally seized the opportunity, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he intensified the kiss, a vocal groan escaping from his throat as Haru allowed him to slip his tongue inside his mouth. He brought a hand up to grasp at Haru's jaw, his fingers soon wandering to thread through dark silky strands at the back of his head, his own heart seemingly cheering them on from where it thundered in his chest.

It was almost as if he were trying to make certain Haru was unable to take his initial, perfect little kiss back, to make sure that he'd never regret it, and ideally smooth the way for many more of them to come.

His free hand found its way to Haru's waist, and he lazily stroked his side while their lips continued to search out more closeness, craving a deeper connection. Makoto rubbed his palm over Haru's hip, his fingers and thumb slipping up beneath the hem of the artist's jumper, sneaking past that thin grey vest he'd worn to sleep in and caressing the soft warm skin underneath.

Haru shivered at his touch, and the pure exhilaration and satisfaction it elicited caused Makoto to serge forward like an overeager teenager, pressing his body against Haru's smaller frame and tipping them down towards the heavily cushioned arm of the couch.

"Mhn" Haru broke away from the kiss mid dip, though due to Makoto's crowding there wasn't much space where he was held in an almost horizontal position, his hands braced upon the author's broad chest as they both panted to catch their breath.

"Sorry, did I-"

"Not here" Haru said shyly against Makoto's lips, his cheekbones tinted a beautiful pink, though this time he didn't look away. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the Sakurazaka: I just chose the apartment name from a Roppongi letting agent's website - so if anyone has actually stayed there (lucky!) I know it doesn't hold up to description, I just liked the name and the fact that they had in-house pet washing facilities. 
> 
> Also, why do these boys always end up with cold tea in this fic?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... here it is, my awkward little Christmas present to you - it's a little on the lengthy side, but more importantly it's also the very first smut based chapter for this fic, hence the slight rating change (and after such a looooong wait too, 'tis surely a Christmas miracle).

 

 

 

And Makoto thought their ride on the metro had been frustrating enough.

By the time they'd made it back to Roppongi station it was already well into the early evening rush hour period, the carriages full of school kids, tourists and retail workers, and that was even before the daily stampede of salarymen had properly begun in full force. It’d been standing room only for both legs of their journey, although honestly Makoto hadn't minded, as the accumulating crush of passengers gave him a legitimate reason to stand unusually close to Haru, to firmly pull him in if the train jerked around unexpectedly.

They'd stayed just as quiet as they had on their outbound trip, the only difference this time being the increasing crowds of equally muted people packed like herds of tired cattle all around them. And though it remained unsaid, somehow it'd been decided that they'd make their way back to Makoto's apartment - the fact it was marginally closer perhaps playing a role in their silent, mutually reached consensus.

First they had been standing facing each other, Makoto's right arm reaching up behind the artist's head to hold onto a hanging plastic grab-loop, Haru opting to extend his hand past Makoto's hip to grasp at a vertical rail. It felt almost as if they were embracing, the mere inches of distance between them only shifting with the gentle movement of the train, Haru keeping his gaze angled low and shy as he focused on Makoto's chest, the author sneakily using his height advantage to peek down at Haru's face as they both shared the same heated air.

The situation was only compounded when they changed to a different line, the masses of people appearing to multiply exponentially as the evening steadily grew later, and their route's new direction took them further towards the centre of the city. This time they'd barely managed to squish into the carriage before the pair of automatic doors had hissed to a close, and the train had already moved out of the station before Makoto was given a chance to assess his surroundings. Because somehow, in the process of making sure that Haru could get on board first, Makoto had inadvertently managed to hem the artist in against the advertising panel that separated the end of the seats from the doors, and this time Haru was facing away from him.

Indeed, this entirely accidental maneuver had Makoto pinning the shorter man against a strategically placed poster depicting the delights of a Hawaiian vacation, thankfully their blushing faces obscured from the rest of the carriage as their fellow commuters remained oblivious to the sudden hike in tension. Makoto's rib cage was flush with Haru's back and shoulder blades, one of his legs slightly staggered and placed between the artist's feet so as not to lose his balance. He couldn't move his larger frame without elbowing or treading on the numerous people that now encroached on his personal space, although he was certain it was only Haru that could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest. Because thankfully Makoto was the only one to be sharing bodily contact with the artist, and he could see that the tips of his ears had turned a heated pink where he stood quietly pressing his palms against the Perspex dividing panel.

"You okay?" Makoto had dipped his head to murmur, to which Haru had predictably replied with just a nod, and he couldn't help himself but just to linger at the crook of his neck for a moment, to take in the fresh musky scent of his skin.

And then he'd been jostled by someone behind him, his hips shifting forward as the unseen passenger tried to angle their luggage more comfortably, Makoto's crotch grinding firmly against the upper curve of Haru's ass, and his hand shooting out towards the dividing panel to steady himself, finding his fingers accidentally lacing over the top of the other's.

"Sorry" Makoto breathed heavily, the majority of his body weight now leaning against the artist. He was forced to shut his eyes against the increasingly dangerous sensation, the constant swaying motion of the train causing the front of his baggy jeans to rub and press up against Haru's enticingly soft, pert rear, clothed in tight dark blue denim. He bit his lip as he willed his body to calm down.

"It's fine" Haru replied, albeit a little breathily "although, don't you think that you're being rather presumptuous?" His low voice questioned, and it took Makoto's already frazzled brain a few seconds to register the note of dry humour in his otherwise level tone.

"Oh I don't know" Makoto played along, his sweetly hushed voice directed down at Haru's ear. "You weren't saying that half an hour ago," and a filament of excitement illuminated in his chest at their rather conspicuous flirting, tempered only slightly when he received a playful little jab to his stomach for his insolence. But Makoto had squeaked at the prod a tad too loudly to say they were still on public transport, and then they'd snickered quietly together as they stood huddled up in the corner, the air no less heated but easily less tense than before.

And if the author had been just a fraction disappointed when their destination was hailed the next stop over the crackly tannoy speakers, well he'd only been consoled by the thought of finally getting Haru alone.

 

 

And that was why their current situation was a little hard to take.

They were standing outside the pale green door of the apartment - Makoto with Haru's backpack slung loosely over one increasingly sagging shoulder, the artist protectively clutching a canvas shopping bag containing the sketchbooks and that 'just a pillow' pillow - and Christ but Momo just _would not_ stop talking.

"-and so brother won't let me speak to customers anymore" his young neighbour smiled broadly, as if entirely unaware that the outcome was intended as a punishment.

"Oh, well that's... um..." Makoto responded awkwardly as he tried his best not to be rude, though he was equally careful not to say anything that would prolong their already rather tortuous conversation.

"But it's been a while huh?" Momo continued on "and the shop's been kinda quiet lately too, probably not seen you guys since that book party. Oh man, seriously I could talk all day about-"

"We have to go" Haru interrupted bluntly "work stuff" and he shifted his bag of materials.

"Woah, cool!" Momo enthused as he looked between the two of them, before praising the artist on his admirable choice of sketch paper, although Makoto missed his reasoning completely as he was jolted into action by a sidelong glance from Haru, prompting him to turn and fumble with his keys as if their lives may actually have depended on it.

 

 

They leant against the door as it shut, the echoes of a friendly farewell still reverberating through the hallway outside. The back of Makoto's head made a 'thunk' as it hit the solid surface, a puff of air releasing in a weary sigh as he looked sideways down at Haru.

"So, you really did stop going to the art shop" he mused, choosing not to elaborate on the fact that he'd visited the place on numerous occasions, when he'd spent all those weeks desperately trying to track him down. "How do you still have a job there?"

"Do you really want to talk about my employment status?" Haru questioned evenly, tipping his head back and looking up through his bangs to meet Makoto's gaze.

"Absolutely not" he replied in a breath, pushing himself off the door just enough to cup Haru's chin, his lidded green eyes focused on that thrilling little ghost of a smirk, their noses brushing softly before he was finally licking, slowly and gently sucking on the artist's lower lip.

Haru moved his jaw, inviting Makoto to kiss him more deeply, and he found himself tilting his head, guiding Haru into the perfect angle with both of his hands now on his face and through his dark silky hair, eyes long since closed with his other senses running full tilt to keep up. He could feel Haru's heated skin beneath his palm, and Makoto was compelled to pull away by just an inch, to take in the image of the artist's rosy cheekbones and parted lips, but then their hazy eyes had met once more, and suddenly they were kissing again.

Haru's slender hands made their way onto Makoto's back, his fingers almost timidly kneading and clutching at his shirt, his upper arms, his shoulder blades. And every little movement, each stifled moan and little shudder only served to stoke more of the heat inside Makoto, to make him want to push it further, to fulfil all the longing he'd been storing up for the person that was now in his arms.

Their tongues rolled languidly together, keeping to the slowly smouldering pace in which they'd begun, although their breathing was increasingly laboured, their touches becoming more confident. Makoto was pressing Haru into the door, a gentle left hand stroking and caressing the side of his neck, his jaw, his hairline - the right hand a little more bold in its newfound position at the artist's hip, possessively keeping him in place.

It felt like they'd been kissing for hours on end, although it was quite easy to believe that they had been, and by now every single gesture, every single little groan was a part of their language, the meaning behind each one somehow effortlessly translated and understood. For all Makoto knew, his doorway and his Haru were all that was left of the world.

And then he'd slid his knee between Haru's thighs, initially only a simple move to bring them closer together, but the sharp cry it had elicited, higher in pitch and too sudden to be restrained, had him biting Haru's lip through a grunt, a heated jolt running straight to his cock.

Though strangely, it was only at that precise moment that it occurred to him that Haru was also a guy. It hadn't entered into his mind whilst he'd been kissing him, using his own weight to firmly push him up against the door, or even whilst running his hands down that lean athletic body to grasp urgently at his hipbone. But it wasn't weird, it honestly didn't matter, he was just now suddenly aware that this was all pretty new for him.

Haru must've sensed his abrupt realisation, as he pulled away only a few seconds later, his questioning eyes searching Makoto's face, even as he instinctively brought the back of his hand up to wipe at his mouth.

"What's wrong?" He asked, although it looked like he'd already guessed, his expression made up of worry, of suspicion and an unmistakable hint of vulnerability.

"N-nothing" Makoto attempted to reassure, panting as he tried to catch his breath, but Haru was apparently having none of it, one sceptical eyebrow slightly raised. "No, it's just... well, this is my first time with... with a man" he trailed off, as the embarrassment took over his vocal chords.

"We don't have to do anything" Haru stated, watching him seriously now.

"Ugh, we kind of do" he whined, aiming to lighten the stilted mood with a little humour, whilst simultaneously hoping not to have to verbally explain the semi he was sporting, as he purposefully shifted himself against Haru's leg.

"Oh" Haru said looking down.

"Ah! Unless you don't want to" he back-pedalled furiously, realising how obnoxiously pushy that could seem.

"It's fine" Haru shrugged nonchalantly, as he bit back a tiny smile.

"No really" Makoto pushed "I know that you're still kind of unsure-"

"Do you think I'd even be here if I was" Haru challenged calmly, his features open and honest for Makoto to assess.

"Oh thank god!" The relief washed over him as he practically lunged towards him again, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest.

"Can we..." and Haru nodded his head over Makoto's shoulder, gesturing at the rest of the apartment.

 

 

Haru's lips were actually really soft. They were perhaps just a little bit thinner, and maybe even a fraction more assertive than those belonging to any woman that he'd been with before, but then truthfully, none of those kisses had ever made Makoto feel quite so much like he was running a fever. And whilst he'd kissed Haru before - albeit not as thoroughly as he was currently enjoying - this was his first real opportunity to let his hands wonder and explore, to touch and to admire and to worship. They'd started off by sitting on the couch, but by now more than half of Makoto's long body was covering Haru's where he lay beneath him, their feet tangling and carelessly dislodging several cushions as they squirmed against each other. He ran his hand up beneath the layers of Haru's clothing, across the smooth plain of his chest and over the heated ridge of his collarbone, unable to stop himself from registering how uniquely firm and flat it all was.

He didn't mean to keep comparing Haru to a girl, and he smiled into their kiss as he thought of how grumpy he'd be if he knew, but in his own defence, up until now that'd been his only frame of reference. And he found he didn't particularly miss the softness of feminine curves and all that came along with them, in fact, on the contrary, Haru's lithe and gracefully angular physique was a source of greedy fascination, and above all just so incredibly sexy. Under his fingers Haru's pale skin was enticingly soft, if not even softer than that a woman's-

"Mh, stop thinking" Haru managed to murmur between the barrage of eager kisses, their lips making a wet smacking sound as Makoto pulled away. And there it was, the grumpy pout that he'd imagined, the added bonus of a tousled fringe and dark dilated pupils to accentuate the dishevelled cuteness before him. Because it seemed like once again he'd been deciphered. "I'm a guy, and you're a guy" Haru said simply "that's it" he shrugged, from his cramped position beneath the author.

"Yeah... you're right, I'm sorry" Makoto admitted sheepishly, although the constant smile of elation rather detracted from his apology somewhat.

"It's fine" Haru dismissed "just relax, and do what feels natural to you..." he said quietly, looking away as his cheeks flushed another shade darker, evidently a little embarrassed about having to say it out loud like that.

Makoto shifted his centre of gravity backwards, his knees still planted either side of Haru's thighs as he gripped the back of the couch with his left arm, steadying himself as he took in the view from above. Haru's head was tipped back on one of the chintzy cushions, his face turned bashfully to the side as he graciously allowed Makoto's adoring scrutiny, the dark messy tendrils of his hair falling conveniently over his eyes. The author's gaze travelled down to Haru's lips; shiny, pink and more than a little swollen from their kissing, parted only slightly as he took in some much needed air. His smaller hands were lying wrist side up just above his shoulder level, jumper and undershirt pushed up around his gently heaving chest, revealing that taut milky skin and those finely sculpted muscles that Makoto had had the pleasure of exploring only a few moments before. The sight was almost mouthwatering.

But Haru's words had stuck with him - 'do what feels natural to you', and so Makoto decided that he was going to take his advice literally, seeing as though they'd already established that they were indeed both guys, by doing exactly what he'd want Haru to be doing to him.

Without hesitation or warning Makoto reached down and cupped Haru's groin in his palm, his eyes trained intently on the artist's face to gauge his reaction, his own heart hammering with excitement as if he were experimenting for the first time - which, actually in a way he kind of was. Haru's eyes had dropped closed and he bit his lip through a hiss, his back arching subtly as he instinctively sought out more pressure. Makoto could feel Haru's arousal twitch beneath his hand, in turn sending a seismic throb to his own rapidly growing erection, and he swallowed thickly as he lowered the angle of his body over him, shifting his weight onto the forearm above their heads and positioning his lips at Haru's ear.

"Is this ok?" he breathed heavily, massaging slowly in order to direct his meaning, turning his head to study the pleasure that flickered across his face.

"Y-yeah" Haru replied shakily, then only nodded as he evidently distrusted his voice any further.

"Just tell me if you'd like to stop" the author murmured, leaving a hot trail of kisses along Haru's neck.

"S-same goes for you" he retorted almost petulantly, slipping one of his own hands between them and boldly planting it over the prominent bulge in the front of Makoto's pants.

"Oh god" Makoto whined against the artist's skin, as an uncontrollable shiver danced down the length of his spine. He felt a chuckle reverberate through Haru's throat, and then he froze, as Haru skilfully popped the button on his jeans with just one hand, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his already straining boxers. "Shit" Makoto hissed, his hips bucking mindlessly into the touch, his face buried deep into Haru's neck as he slumped like a deadweight above him.

"Tell me if you'd like to stop" Haru teased him with his own words of concern, and Makoto managed a snort of laughter amidst his growing haze, before he was overcome with the sudden desire to set eyes on Haru's mischievous face.

He propped himself back up a little, grinning at Haru's triumphant expression, and he couldn't resist claiming a few more heated kisses from those ever so slightly upturned lips. He shifted off of him, sitting back on his heels so he was straddling his legs, and as he peered down at Haru he tilted his head in thought - now, how to go about his revenge?

Makoto first drew Haru's attention by running his splayed fingers along the outside of the artist's thighs, slowly making his way up to the jut of his hips and onto the smooth exposed skin of his waist and his stomach, he let his fingertips graze along the soft V that disappeared beneath Haru's waistband, loving the way that he flinched and shivered beneath his touch, only finally letting up when a helpless moan escaped from the back of Haru's throat. Next he set a trail along the inside of Haru's legs, from the backs of his knees to his inner thighs, scratching and kneading at the tight indigo denim with his fingernails and thumbs, taking his time to retain every detail.

He reached for Haru's zipper, inching down the fly and unlooping the single button almost too slowly, his hands beginning to shake a little as his shallow breaths caught in the back of his dry throat, his eyes sweeping up to Haru's face for reassurance, even as he began to peel the criminally tight skinny jeans away.

"Tch" Haru clicked his tongue, obviously getting impatient and perhaps even a little uncomfortable under the constant level of attention, and so supporting himself on his elbows he effortlessly lifted his pelvis up from the surface of the couch, assisting Makoto in the task of removing his clothes, the author's enamoured gaze drifting down to watch as his abdominals shifted and tensed through the movement, remaining transfixed even as he disposed of the now redundant garment.

He could see the outline of Haru's length beneath the fabric of his briefs - which, now he thought about it were a different pair from the ones he'd been wearing earlier, when Makoto had ogled him as he got out of bed. He absently realised that Haru must've changed when they'd visited the penthouse, although this pair were equally as flattering as the last - the black and dark blue chevron design clinging to every curve and angle. Makoto subconsciously licked his lips.

"Can I?" He rasped, sliding his thumb into the waistband, a gulp disturbing his nervous smile as Haru just rolled his eyes and nodded, silently watching the author all the while.

He'd never thought of another man's cock as being beautiful before, but here he was, marvelling with awe at how pretty Haru was, at his attractive shape, the cute little patch of inky hair and his fractionally darkened skin tone. He desperately wanted to touch him, and so with a tentative reach and a violently racing pulse, that was exactly what he did.

Makoto wrapped his large hand around Haru's length, his fingers curling around the silky skin at the base as he slowly began to stroke him towards full hardness, both of their eyes falling closed at the contact, and rather embarrassingly, it was Makoto who let out the first blissful moan.

Because he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't thought about almost this exact situation before; with Haru spread practically naked beneath him, all submissive and willing. He'd never be able to explain how much it turned him on, having Haru like this in his apartment, simply being allowed to see him in such an intimate position, his quiet gasps and the way that his brows pinched together when he was feeling good.

The mirrored angle felt somewhat strange to get to grips with, literally, but as Makoto adjusted the pitch of his wrist, replicating the way that he did himself on Haru, his natural instinct began to take over and he flicked and twisted his fist with growing confidence, occasionally swiping his thumb across the tip, but for the most part keeping the pace rather languid and slow.

"Ma-koto" Haru choked, in a voice that sent a pulse to the author's groin, his hand now unrelenting in its quest to make him say his name again. "Makoto" he repeated more urgently, his fingers clenching into the shirtsleeve of his other stationary arm.

"Yeah, Haru?" Makoto exhaled, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue inside Haru's open mouth, their heated kiss distracting the both of them for a few moments more.

"Wait!" Haru gasped, his heavy breathing now directed into Makoto's ear "let's... together..." He panted, hooking his index finger into Makoto's boxers and tugging insistently. And quite frankly, it was the best idea he'd ever heard.

He felt almost giddy as he raced to shed his baggy jeans, his eagerness causing a bout of minor turbulence to ricochet through the couch cushions, and they giggled like excited teenagers as Makoto threw away his trousers and clambered back into position over the artist.

"Holy shit" Haru muttered, and when Makoto looked to his face to see what could possibly be wrong, he found him peering down between them, and eyeing Makoto's rather impressive erection. The author couldn't help but blush - he'd had comments about his size before, and whilst usually it made him feel rather awkward, when Haru said it he actually felt kind of special. Still, now he understood why Haru had gotten so frustrated with his constant staring, and he guided Haru's face back with a finger under his chin, capturing his lips to retain his attention.

"Up here" he chided the artist playfully.

He'd meant to take it slowly, he really had, but when Makoto first slid his hips against Haru's it was if some kind of explosive fuse had been set alight, with every moment leading up until that point and no way of turning back even if he'd wanted to. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life, and the fact that he could feel Haru's arousal, tangible and hot against his own, was just so damn sexy and reassuring and overwhelming all at once. Makoto began to shake from the effects of his nerves firing swathes of electric tingles across his skin, and he mouthed hotly at Haru's jaw and neck as they rocked against each other, his hips bucking wildly as the sounds of heavy breathing and rhythmically creaking furniture filled his small apartment.

And then Haru had grasped his hand, twining their fingers together and leading them both down to where their heated bodies met, spreading even more of their precum and stroking in harmony with the pace in which they moved against each other.

"Yeah-oh God, yes..." Makoto bit out as Haru ran his thumb along the author's slit, and he was thrusting into their joined hands, his eyes screwed tightly closed as even his hearing was starting to go a little fuzzy. Although thankfully, he was still able to make out the delicious little noises that Haru could no longer keep at bay, his sweet moans and breathy gasps that spilled forth from his open mouth.

"Makoto... I'm gonna come..." Haru whispered desperately, a hoarse cry punctuating his climax as Makoto felt his warm release cover his still furiously pumping fist.

"H-haru!" And that was all it took, like a rush of bubbles to the surface, Makoto coming hard, grinding against him with a shout muffled into Haru's neck.

 

 

The couch was a little too narrow for them both, even when considering some of the larger cushions had ended up being relegated to the floor. So consequently Makoto was put in a rather fortunate position, again literally, as he lay pressed between the sofa and Haru's back, spooning him and enveloping his smaller frame possessively, his nose buried in the fine hair at his crown and their legs comfortably tangling together.

They should probably move, his skin was hot and sticking with sweat, and there would definitely be some cleaning up for the both of them to do. But as soon as Makoto had dragged the thin, inadequately small blanket from the back of the couch to cover their hips and thighs he'd been rendered unable to budge, and honestly wasn't sure he would ever want to again. They'd long since caught their breath, and now it was just blatant cuddling.

"Makoto?" Haru asked quietly.

"Mmm?"

"...Thank you."

"Hey, no need to thank me" the author beamed as he nuzzled Haru's neck, contented and sleepy "I enjoyed it too - enjoyed it a lot. So much."

"Not for that" the artist huffed, lightly slapping Makoto's muscular upper arm where it came round to hold him protectively from behind. "I mean about what you said. And didn't say. A few things are starting to make sense to me now" he paused. "And because, I know I'm not very good at talking" he admitted, Makoto giving him an encouraging little squeeze. "Actually... I've never told anyone a lot of that stuff."

"Oh?" Makoto said tactfully, but curious nonetheless, "not even Rin?" and he wished he could see Haru's face.

"Nh" he gently shook his head in the negative, unknowingly tickling Makoto's nose. "We're close, but we never had that kind of relationship" he reasoned "sometimes he'd try, but I never felt comfortable. I don't know..."

Makoto's chest fluttered at the implication that Haru felt comfortable enough with him. He held on to him tighter, curling them into each other even more, kissing the back of his neck and sighing happily when the artist grumbled half heartedly.

"Then, thank you too."

 

 

It was a good couple of hours later when Makoto woke up again, his living room now shrouded in darkness as the night had inevitably crept in whilst they were sleeping.

He shifted to raise up on his elbow, his limbs and joints feeling a little stiff as he carefully peered over Haru's shoulder to check if he was awake. He wasn't, and the cute little blush on his cheek and the way in which his hands were huddled up around his face made Makoto glad that he'd been the one to wake up first.

He sat up as much as he could, gently slipping his forearm beneath Haru's thighs and pulling the sleeping artist onto his lap, then finally extending his own legs to plant his feet on the floor. He made his way towards the bedroom easily enough through the dark of his apartment, precious cargo still asleep in his arms, and his heart fluttering with contentment as he softly tapped the door with his heel to kick it closed behind them.

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet. And when I say sweet....

 

 

 

"Where's all your food?" Haru complained flatly as he pushed open the bedroom door, a large tray of plates and bowls balanced deftly in his hands.

"You made breakfast?" Makoto beamed, propping himself up on his elbows. He'd been lying with his eyes closed listening to Haru potter around, and whilst perhaps that wasn't how a good host should act, an irrational part of him had worried that if he'd opened his eyes it would all fade away like a dream. But thankfully, Haru was here in the softly diffused daylight of his room, and as far as he could tell was most definitely real.

"Well, a breakfast of sorts" Haru grumbled on as he brought one knee up onto the mattress "you don't have any eggs, or fish, or meat or fresh vegetables for that matter."

"Yeah, I don't really use my kitchen..."

"Hmm" he agreed, passing the tray over to rest in Makoto's lap and settling himself down next to him. "And we'll have to share" he sighed.

It was true that their meal was a rather odd combination, made up of lots of separate little dishes all packed together on one tray. But it was still pretty impressive nonetheless, to say it'd been concocted from the random packets and canned goods lurking in his kitchen cupboards, and better than anything Makoto could've come up with by a mile. There was a large bowl of white rice and two smaller ones of miso soup, and a main dish consisting of tofu pieces simmered in soy, a packet of nori strips repurposed as a garnish. Alongside was a saucer of pickled daikon from a jar, a bowl of tinned pineapple rings and some mini sweet red-bean dorayaki still in their cellophane wrappers. Makoto decided it best not to mention that it was in fact probably healthier and more balanced than the food he ate on a regular basis.

"Wow, this is amazing Haru. I can't believe you made all this from nothing" he praised as he moved to set it down flat on the bed between them, stiffening slightly as the artist leant over him, obliviously reaching behind his shoulder to place their mugs of tea on the nightstand.

"It's just store cupboard stuff" he dismissed with a shrug "but now you really do have nothing. We'll go to the market" he decided as he picked up a pair of chopsticks.

"Ok, yeah I'd like that. That sounds nice" and strangely it really did. "itadakimasu."

They chatted as they ate, Makoto as usual doing most of the talking from where he lay on his side, still partially under the covers though his broad chest was bared, Haru sitting cross legged next to him and picking at the food with his chopsticks like a bird. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, it seemed what they'd done hadn't changed anything between them - or not changed for the worse at least - and it was reminiscent of their easy days in the studio, only the comfortable silences between topics giving Makoto enough pause to think about how intimate they'd been with each other just the previous night, the distracting imagery flooding back every time he looked at the artist too long.

And it was in one of those moments, as Makoto absently chewed on a piece of pineapple with his hooded green eyes lingering at Haru's neck, his thoughts inevitably returning to the way in which he'd pressed his heated face into his skin as he'd rutted and gasped against him, that he suddenly realised that Haru was wearing his shirt. It was just an old plain white tee, so perhaps that was why he hadn't picked up on it earlier, but as his appreciative gaze drifted down the elegant column of his throat and was treated to the tantalising view of those angular collarbones, he noticed the unusually deep cut of the V-neck and then he recognised the pocket on the breast, although it was positioned considerably lower than it would've been on himself.

"You're wearing my shirt!" He blurted out like a simpleton, almost choking on his remaining mouthful of food.

"Um, yeah" Haru admitted, his voice a little tight as he subconsciously brought up his arms to cover his chest and shoulders defensively. "I thought I'd packed some tops but must've forgotten, and my clothes from yesterday got a bit..." he trailed off as he looked away in embarrassment "I should've asked."

"N-no no! It's fine!" Makoto rushed to reassure, sitting up and waving his hands. "Honestly Haru I don't mind. And well, actually..." he swallowed hard, his eyes raking over the artist "it's kind of cute."

"Cu-?" Haru balked, his eyes shooting wide "it's not-" colour rapidly tinting his cheeks. "It's just a shirt" he grumbled, a little crease between his brows as he got off the bed "are you finished eating?" although he gathered up the plates either way.

"Mhm" Makoto replied redundantly, smiling up at him sweetly.

"I'm not cute" Haru muttered in protest, the oversized shirt slipping down on one shoulder as he reached across to pick up the tray.

"If you say so" Makoto lilted under his breath as Haru walked towards the door, happily falling back onto his side and watching the movement of the shirt hem, where it draped loosely all the way down to Haru's mid thigh.

 

He'd barely shut his eyes for more than a couple of minutes, and was in the process of considering whether he should get out of bed to make sure Haru wasn't doing the washing up, when he felt a presence arrive in front of him and he heard a soft, almost sultry whisper of his name.

"Makoto..."

He blinked open his eyes to find Haru standing beside the bed, a large bladed kitchen knife held in his hand.

"Holy shit!" He bolted upright, jaw dropping open in alarm "Haru, what the?"

And with a perfectly straight face Haru lifted up his other arm, his bicep straining slightly as he brought the cardboard box he was carrying into view, setting it down carefully on the bed by just its parcel strings.

"Open it" he stated simply, holding out the knife, handle towards Makoto and a tiny smirk on his face.

"Oh my god Haru" Makoto whined, stashing the implement on the nightstand "you scared the crap out of me" he breathed, as one hand covered his eyes and the other came to a rest over his galloping heart.

"S-sorry" Haru said quietly, crawling onto the bed as worry filtered onto his face. "I didn't mean t-"

And suddenly he was on his back, Makoto straddling his waist with his arms held to the mattress by his wrists. Haru tried to wriggle his way to freedom, but Makoto was taller and stronger, and he only increased the press of his superior body weight down on top of him.

"That was a very naughty trick" he castigated from above with a pout, because if anything could turn him into a pathetic gibbering wreck in a matter of seconds it was jump-scares and horror movie stuff, and Haru had seen him freaked out by a dragon sculpture for heaven's sake. "You're so mean."

"And not at all cute" he drawled in return, a spark of challenge in his narrowed eyes, though his lips were still slightly quirked.

"Haruuu!" Makoto bemoaned, his grip involuntarily loosening as he felt the laughter of relief begin to bubble in his chest. "You've got such a weird sense of humour" he chuckled, now idly stroking his thumbs across Haru's palms where he needlessly still held him down.

And Haru merely shrugged, the smile on his face growing wider. It was a rare and truly genuine expression, and it made Makoto's heart sing.

They stared into each other's eyes, the quiet room around them momentarily dissolving, along with their gradually abating titters of laughter, morphing into something more profound. Makoto was transfixed, the way that Haru's dark glossy tendrils were sprawled out against the whiteness of the bedsheets, falling away from his face and leaving him looking so open. Those intense blue eyes were focused up at him, a thousand disparate musings and unasked questions converging like a whirlpool, a myriad of thoughts and assurances flowing between them with just the minutest dilation of pupils or the slightest flutter of lashes. And as they studied each other at length, it slowly became apparent that they were both internally asking the exact same thing; what have I done to deserve a person like you?

Haru was the first to look away, turning his head to the side with a blush, and Makoto was suddenly aware of the rather provocative position they were in. They were on his bed, and he was hovering over Haru - holding him down no less - wearing only the boxer shorts he'd slept in, Haru dressed in that oversized shirt which had ridden up towards his hips during their playful battle for dominance. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it implied a temptingly sexual tone, and in their continued stillness Makoto could feel Haru's pulse quicken almost imperceptibly where his own long fingers remained curled around his wrists. A shot of adrenaline quickly permeated his bloodstream, his body temperature rising as he watched Haru's cheekbones colour even more, and it took him another few moments to realise that he was still staring down at the artist rather hungrily.

Makoto sat back on his heels, running a hand through unruly brown hair as the tension quickly dissipated, an expression not entirely dissimilar to disappointment fleetingly gracing Haru's face, but as he cleared his throat and casually sat up too, their eyes fell onto the long forgotten box that was quietly sharing the mattress.

"That's..." Makoto faltered, a different kind of excitement pooling in his gut.

"Mn" Haru nodded, and then he reached for the knife on the nightstand "open it" he coaxed, their eyes meeting once again as they silently acknowledged the significance of the task.

"I have scissors you know" Makoto lamented as he took the implement from Haru and set to work on the packaging, though still unable to disguise the increasingly eager grin on his face.

"Scissors wouldn't have been funny" Haru quipped, earning a lighthearted slap to his calf in return.

The seals were cut, and after handing back the knife Makoto took a deep breath, gingerly opening the corrugated flaps of the box as Haru settled back down to watch. The first thing that came into view was a letter printed on thick headed notepaper, and Makoto recognised the corporate logo from the print house they'd used, only barely giving it a perfunctory skim before tossing it carelessly to one side, the paper fluttering off the edge of the bed to be discarded on the floor. But underneath it had revealed the three neat stacks of their book, packed tightly together with several thin leaves of polystyrene, wedging them in place and protecting the corners in transit. It had only been a few short days since the night of the book launch, since Makoto had set eyes on the cover art for the first time, since he'd actually held a copy of the book in his hands, but still, its beauty and indeed its mere existence managed to swiftly steal his breath away once again.

He reached out, first running his fingertips reverently over the title and then carefully lifting one of the copies away, his hands noticeably shaking as he held it like a precious relic, his mouth going dry as he looked up at Haru, green eyes prickling with emotion. They shared a knowing smile.

It was a perfect moment, one that Makoto wanted to properly savour, both the book and Haru himself completely exceeding his wildest dreams. He was so glad that the artist was there with him for this, a quiet private occasion that they could share just the two of them, the fact that they were back together on such phenomenal terms only adding to the sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.

"Makoto?" Haru asked with concern, and suddenly he was aware of a little trickle of wetness running down his face. But the author only sniffed, laughing with bleary, smiley eyes as he quickly wiped his cheek.

"I'm fine... Sorry" he said thickly "I just can't believe it" and it was all getting a little overwhelming. "Can I... have a hug?" He cautiously asked, feeling kind of needy and sentimental, but after only a second or two of surprise Haru nodded shyly, shuffling forward on his knees.

He buried his face into Haru's chest, looping both arms around his slim waist that was drowning in excess fabric, and in turn Haru lay his own across the author's broad shoulders, his talented fingers idly petting through the hair at the nape of his neck. Makoto clung to him and breathed his scent in deeply, and in doing so he felt a sense of security and comfort wash over him, a feeling that perhaps he'd not experienced in the year since leaving Iwatobi.

"Thank you" he slurred contentedly against Haru's heart, giving him a gentle squeeze for extra emphasis before finally pulling away. But before Haru could retreat in full Makoto cordially took ahold of his hand, luring him back towards the head of the bed. "I know we just woke up, but, do you want to hear a bedtime story?" and he smiled as Haru rolled his eyes, smiled even more when he came with him nonetheless.

Makoto propped himself up against the white cotton pillows, opening out his arm to provide a place for Haru to lie down against his side, and as he snugly pulled the blankets up around them the artist hesitantly laid his head against his shoulder, relaxing a little more when Makoto happily pulled him in close and secure. Their position was a little cumbersome, making it slightly difficult for Makoto to take up the book in both hands, but really it just gave him an excuse to hold Haru tighter, enveloping his smaller frame and encouraging him to lie more against his chest.

"Comfy?" He questioned the top of his head.

"Mn" Haru replied softly, a huff of mock annoyance present in his tone, though he bashfully angled his face away so the author couldn't see.

"Their town was by the seaside..." Makoto began, the familiar words falling from his lips in hushed tones even before he'd fully opened the first chapter's page.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this fluff as part of a healthy, calorie controlled lifestyle.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Non-descriptive mentions of death.

 

 

 

The sweet musky aroma of incense had always reminded Makoto of family; of times spent dutifully paying their respects at the frost covered shrine at the top of the hill on New Year’s, or when getting together with their more distant relatives to celebrate Obon during those sweltering summer nights. It was a scent that instantly took him back to his childhood, to being slightly unnerved by the religious processions he didn't fully understand, his little hands rubbing at his eyes when the grey perfumed smoke made them itch. It was a fairly common smell, but it evoked a rather personal set of memories, and so perhaps that was the reason he now felt like he was intruding.

Makoto had stood back and watched as Haru quietly washed the tall faintly weathered gravestone, only handing him the two little taper candles and bunches of white carnations they'd bought along the way when prompted, his green eyes following the artist’s movements tenderly as he worked. In fairness Haru hadn’t looked particularly forlorn, his pale delicate features appearing only marginally more sombre than usual. In fact it was only the way in which he’d talked about the old man, so vulnerably and still so full of pain, just that once when they were up on the roof of the studio, which led Makoto to understand how important and emotive this place must be for him. He couldn’t help but take a sidelong peek as they stood in silence to pray, those intricate spirals of smoke from the incense rising up in hazy columns before fluctuating and dispersing into a mist within the breeze.

"It looks nice" Makoto said softly, nodding and taking a seat as Haru gestured towards the smooth concrete step of the memorial. "Actually, it seems pretty well maintained" he observed, pivoting slightly inwards to look back at the modest but tidy grave. "Is there family in the area?"

"No" Haru replied simply, shifting to look as well. He lingered for a moment, but he must've felt Makoto's eyes settle on him curiously, sparing him a quick glance before turning back and facing forwards again. His lowered line of sight snagged on a small wilting dandelion that he'd somehow missed, his fingers reaching out and plucking it from its shady hiding place just to one side of his feet. "I've been coming here a lot lately" he explained almost reluctantly, feigning distraction by twisting the fibrous weed around by the stem and examining its dry spindly roots.

"I see" Makoto said, not needing any more of an explanation. It seemed that maybe he hadn't been the only one who'd taken the events of the past few months to heart. "But that's good, I mean, that you still look after this place. I'm sure he'd be grateful, even if you weren’t actually related."

"I guess" Haru shrugged, dropping his arms to rest on his knees, though he kept the little flowering plant as a captive in his grasp. "He didn't talk about it much, but Minato did have a family once. For a little while at least" Haru frowned. "His wife went into premature labour with their first child, but she died from complications. The baby only lived for two days."

“That’s awful” Makoto breathed, and Haru nodded his agreement slowly, his brow slightly furrowed and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Yeah” he sighed. “But somehow Minato wasn’t a bitter person. He was generous and pretty accepting of people. I mean, it happened a long time before I came to Tokyo, but I think all that had some kind of bearing on why he took me in. Because, neither of us had anyone.”

A silence bloomed in the peaceful cemetery, accentuating the soothing rustle of the trees and the dulcet chirrups of small birds, the ubiquitous sounds of the restless city whispering along underneath. And Makoto wondered if that was all Haru was going to say, he knew the artist didn’t like to talk, or rather, found it difficult to explain himself. So, true to form he was about to make some sort of inane remark to ease the other’s nerves - perhaps about how the days had started getting cooler, when Haru hummed in thought, a distant look to his troubled blue eyes.

“I don’t like to think where I’d be… if we’d never met” and he pressed his thumb into the centre of the cheerful dandelion petals, his thick black lashes seeming to skim at his cheeks as his narrowed gaze remained low.

“But you did meet” Makoto pointed out “and I’m sure you made him very happy. He’d be proud of how far you’ve come” he encouraged, venturing out a hand and briefly rubbing comforting little circles across Haru’s back.

“Would he?” he murmured almost to himself.

“Of course” Makoto reassured, his voice almost squeaking an octave higher in surprise “you’ve got your own place, you’re a successful artist – _and_ , don’t forget, you just published an amazing book” he smiled.

“Hmm” he sounded unconvinced.

Haru seemed to continue thinking about that, the plant getting progressively more dishevelled as he mulled it over, absently turning it around in his hands and half-heartedly analysing its structure. He exhaled an audible breath through his nose, turning to look at the author with an expression Makoto found rather difficult to interpret. It was questioning, but somehow it wasn’t directed outwards.

“Do you ever feel… ”Haru began softly, his gaze already back down to his hands “do you ever feel, like a fraud?”

“Mn, all the time” Makoto chuckled lightly, the artist’s eyes snapping up to his face, his astonished disposition more curious than accusatory. “Well, you know…” Makoto continued, his gentle laughter gradually being replaced by a shy little smile “I guess with writing – kind of like art” he gestured towards Haru “whether it’s good or not in the end is pretty subjective. I started out just making stuff up for my little brother and sister, and somehow it led me here to Tokyo. In fact, even up until the launch of the book I still half expected I’d end up with a one-way ticket back to Iwatobi. And I suppose it could _still_ happen” he shrugged.

Haru frowned at him disapprovingly, his grumpy little pout rather cute and endearing and subsequently causing a grin to find its way to Makoto’s lips. He remembered reading the book with Haru that morning, how he’d felt truly at home and contented for the first time in what was probably several years. He remembered the way in which Haru had almost seemed to melt into him as they’d read through it together, cocooned in his blankets and cushioned on his pillows. Lastly he thought of how Haru had looked up at him and smiled when he’d finished the final page, of how they’d tentatively discussed the idea of publishing another, like two hopeful parents planning a second child. And he knew he could never go back. Not as long as Haru stayed with him.

Makoto slipped his hand over Haru’s where it lay propping him up on the cool grey step, and they watched as their fingers intertwined, both of them knowing exactly what it meant.

“You should have more faith in yourself” Makoto broke the extended pause “don’t get me wrong, everyone has their doubts. I think it’s all a part of growing up, of realising how big the world is and how things won’t always go the way we thought they would. But seriously Haru, you’ve already accomplished so much.”

“But” Haru countered, his hand pulling away to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear “that isn’t all down to me. I... would never have gotten this far without Shigino.”

Makoto had been about to smile and reassure that it was fine to lean on people, that accepting help didn’t make a person weak or tarnish their own achievements. But instead he bit his tongue, that name and the way Haru just looked so cowed settling uneasily in the pit of his stomach.

“What do you mean?” he asked instead, trying his hardest to keep a level tone.

“Well” Haru began; already back to fidgeting with the dandelion, peeling the thin yellow petals away from the flower head one by one, “when I finished art school I didn’t have a lot of money. I managed to save a little bit, because they’d given me a scholarship, but it was only just enough to cover my first month’s rent. I took some bar work, and then I found my part-time job at the art shop. Rin and I managed to get a joint discount on our studio fees too. It would have been enough” he sighed.

“Would have?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Minato left me what he could, he didn’t have anyone else to leave it to” Haru laughed bitterly “but by the time I’d graduated the izakaya had been sold to pay back what he owed to the bank. I used my share to cover the funeral costs.”

“Oh Haru” Makoto whispered in sympathy, a lump forming in his throat as he waited for Haru to collect himself, those shimmering blue eyes focused upwards to will away any tears that threatened his composure, his head shaking gently to admonish his own emotions.

“Its fine” he managed surprisingly steadily, letting an exhausted puff of air escape from between his lips “it was all a long time ago. It just still gets me sometimes.”

“Of course” Makoto said with understanding, his hand instinctively returning to Haru’s back and shoulder, he’d been through a lot for someone so young. But still a niggling thought remained in the back of his mind, and before he knew it his curiosity had gotten the better of him. “So, where does Shigino come in to all of this?”

For a few moments Haru regarded him with interest, before smiling sadly and finally showing mercy on the scruffy little weed he’d nervously picked apart, throwing it with impressive aim into the wooden bucket which had once contained the water.

“Has anyone close to you ever passed away?” he enquired softly.

“No” Makoto shook his head “I mean, my grandmother died when I was very young, but I don’t really remember much about it. Why?”

“There are particular… long-term expenses involved in retaining a memorial plot. Especially here in Tokyo. And this is where the old man wanted to be” he smiled sadly again, turning and pointing to the tall marble plinth that made up the simple gravestone, directing Makoto’s eyes towards a few lines of engraving which he hadn’t noticed before. “He wanted to be with his family.”

A woman’s name, Mizushima Nanami, was finely etched at the base of the obelisk, the family moniker clearly matching that of Minato’s. Beside his wife was simply the kanji for child.

“He wanted to be here with them, but all of this costs money – money their offspring would usually provide.”

“So, you’re paying the interment fees” Makoto concluded. Of course, he’d known these kinds of obligations existed, he’d just never had to think about it before.

“Technically, yes” Haru admitted “I can at least cover this much and the rent at my apartment, but anything else…”

“Your benefactor?”  he deduced once more, his face rather blatantly stony.

“Yeah” Haru looked almost ashamed, and Makoto felt instantly guilty. “My lease at Studio Free, all of my materials, sometimes even my actual living expenses depending on how many shifts I can pull or where I am in a project. His offer was just too good to refuse.”

“I guess so” Makoto nodded sagely, imagining Haru straight out of art school and already having to deal with such a heavy financial burden. Without Shigino’s assistance he’d most likely have had to choose between honouring the only person who’d ever shown him kindness, and pursuing his talent as an artist. Makoto was in no position to judge his choices. “I’d probably have done the same thing” he smiled, feeling better for seeing Haru’s shoulders lose their stiffness.

 “Thanks” Haru muttered.

The amicable silence ebbed in again, the wind picking up and softly wending its way between them, their hair ruffling lightly and the excess petals that Haru had stripped from the stalk being picked up and carried away.

“We still need to go to the market” Haru pointed out, taking in a deep breath of air before turning to look at Makoto, his face now as calm and collected as usual.

“Okay” he smiled warmly in return, hauling himself into a standing position and reaching a hand down for Haru.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, this was a bit of a 180 from the fluff of the last few chapters, but I think it needed to be said.
> 
> I’m not sure if it’s just my morbid curiosity, but I’ve had a number of conversations with my Japanese teacher about funeral rites and rituals in japan – I think maybe it’s because most western customs are so different, and also probably because quite a few word meanings have their roots in religion and tradition. Anyway, usually the financial responsibility would fall to the eldest son when someone dies, and indeed they’re expected to continue to pay even after the service. The payments go on for several years, and in some cases are passed down to the next generation as well. I think these days there are cheaper options, but I’m working on the premise that Minato’s wife and child passed away a few decades ago, as he’s already an ‘old man’ by the time he comes to meet Haru. Also, I don't mean to suggest that these expenses routinely bankrupt people, only that it might've been hard for Haru to deal with when he was just starting out after school. 
> 
> I listened to a gentle audio track of birdsong, breeze and singing bowls whilst writing this chapter, so despite the rather sad subject matter it was actually quite relaxing. If you google ‘A soft murmur. com’ you’ll find a really nice site where you can mix your own ambient sounds together – it’s good for writing, reading or actual studying for that matter.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longtime-no-update huh?  
> (See notes for grovelling apology/what i did on my vacation)

 

 

 

  
"Hey" Makoto greeted softly as he stepped through the open door of Haru's studio, a few taps of his knuckles on the whitewashed doorframe to further announce his arrival, a gentle smile slipping onto his face after pausing to watch as the artist rinsed a handful of paintbrushes in the little metal sink.

"Hi" he replied, his tone equally as tender, their eyes lingering for a moment before he deposited the brushes into an empty jar to dry bristle-side up, wiping his hands almost awkwardly on his paint splattered sweatshirt.

They'd had a few days apart, after having spent so much time together following the book launch - the meal with Makoto's family, those nights in his apartment. Makoto felt as if he'd been through an exhilarating whirlwind within just this last weekend alone, and so much had happened that it'd taken a while for it all to truly sink in. But now he was back at Haru's door like a lovesick puppy, and the atmosphere between them seemed almost shy. In a breathless, heart pounding sort of way.

As if to compensate, a refreshing breeze from the half opened sash window carried the powdery chemical scent of wet paint across Haru's brightly lit studio, sightlessly ruffling his dark satiny strands as it sashayed around him and gently petered out towards where Makoto still stood in a daze. It'd been a while too since Makoto had been there, since the night of the party when he'd confronted Haru about his frustrating avoidance tactics, since he'd crowded the artist against his desk, when he'd kissed him deeply and boldly declared his love.

The recollection sent a subtle shade of blush to Makoto's cheeks, his eyes almost unwilling to divert themselves from that increasingly sentimental piece of furniture, his hands absently wringing as he took a few more steps into the room.

"You-" they both said at once, Makoto breaking into a smitten grin, Haru letting out a little huff of annoyance. There followed an expectant pause, until the author happily motioned for Haru to go ahead and speak first.

"You should sit" he said a little self consciously, gesturing over towards the couch whilst still not looking directly at him.

"Oh" Makoto laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he came closer "yeah thanks."

"And..." Haru added briskly, taking ahold of Makoto's forearm just as he was about to pass, "happy birthday" he muttered bashfully, stretching up on his tiptoes to press a soft sweet kiss against his cheek, just below his right eye. It only lasted a second before Haru slowly lowered himself back down, but he remained standing close, still holding on to him as he hid his face against a stunned broad shoulder.

And Makoto had felt practically weightless the instant he realised what was happening, his stomach performing a lurching drop, his heart leaping up into his throat and accelerating in a clear attempt to escape his chest. His windpipe in turn went suddenly dry and he swallowed several times but failed to produce any sound, his green eyes blown wide as his frazzled brain initiated some kind of emergency reboot procedure.

He'd kissed Haru before, they'd gone even further than that, but he was still not quite used to Haru willingly making the first move, and it completely knocked him for six.

"It... is your birthday?" Haru asked him worriedly, now looking up through his doe-like eyelashes.

"Ye-yeah" Makoto croaked, his gaze scanning the artist's heated features as he vaguely recalled the Skype call with his family that very morning. "Yeah" he said a little more naturally at the look of relief on Haru's face "it's today. Thank you" he beamed.

"What were you going to say?" Haru deflected, his cheekbones flushing even more.

"Huh?" and Makoto tipped his head like a quizzical dog.

"Before" he huffed, a faint breath of air tickling Makoto's neck "what were you going to say?"

"Ah" the author laughed, slipping his hands around Haru's waist and drawing him closer "I was going to say... that you look really nice" he grinned.

Haru's eyebrows shot up in surprise before they quickly furrowed and he made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue, his embarrassment evident as he looked down at his once black, now faded long sleeved top which had speckles of dust and paint all over it.

"These are my work clothes" he grumbled.

"I know" Makoto cooed "but you still look nice" and he pulled him against his chest, long arms now crossing over at the small of his back as he dipped his head and returned the kiss to Haru's own cheek.

"W-wait!" Haru pushed against his solid front, retreating a step when he was easily released. "You'll get dirty" he fussed, meticulously brushing the flat of his hand over Makoto's smarter clothes to chase away any of the particles that may have been transferred. And the author let him do it, simply watching him in amusement. Because whilst that strong sardonic Haru he'd first gotten to know was still someone he longed to be around, and of course that feisty side of him was still irrefutably attractive - this new, flustered Haru was swiftly becoming one of his favourites too.

"Give me your jacket and go sit down" Haru monotoned, holding out his hand expectantly, back to being as blunt as ever. And so Makoto complied with a chuckle, shrugging off his olive green parka and obediently making his way to the couch.

Haru busied himself with a further pat-down of the garment as he took it over to hang on a lone coat hook behind the door, noticeably hesitating for a few seconds before he gently pushed it closed and turned the key in its lock. For some reason, Makoto found himself pretending he hadn't seen him do it, feigning interest in his own fingernails as the artist then quietly foraged around amongst the scattered papers on his desk.

"I got you something" Haru finally spoke, obviously trying to sound casual as he perched on the edge of the coffee table opposite, but still coming across a little awkward as he held out the gift in his hand.

Makoto straightened as his jaw fell open in surprise, honestly not having expected to receive anything at all. He'd known that they were probably going out for a couple of drinks later to celebrate, and that alone had seemed like a gift in itself. But here Haru was, offering up a birthday present and looking adorably nervous about it.

"Thank you" Makoto breathed, accepting the flat little parcel appreciatively.

"It's not much" Haru dismissed modestly, and now he was the one pretending to examine his hands.

"It's beautiful" Makoto praised in earnest, taking a closer look at the wrapping "did you paint this?" He looked up at Haru, still running his fingers over the textured paper covering, blanketed in sketches of plants and flowers - the foliage brought to life in delicate shades of watercolour greens.

"Mn" Haru nodded, whilst still averting his eyes.

"It's almost too pretty to open" he only half joked, his fingertips stroking along the very precisely creased seam on the back.

"Tch, just rip it" Haru scolded as he became impatient, reaching out in the hopes of at least getting the process started.

"Nooo!" Makoto wailed in protest, lifting it out of range above his shoulder "I want to save it, because Haru made it for me" to which the artist merely rolled his eyes. But then he did gingerly pick at the neatly folded end, wincing occasionally at the sound of each little unavoidable tear, until he could finally unfurl the paper to gently pull out the contents within.

Inside was a simple leather bound notebook, the thin spine stitched together with a fine length of matching tan cord, but the covers remaining otherwise blank to showcase the quality of the supple material. Makoto instinctively brought it up to his nose to inhale the earthy scent, his eyes comically meeting with Haru's over the top of the book before he realised what he was doing.

"It's wonderful Haru, thank you" he reassured with a smile, seeing the artist's shoulders relax a little in response. "But it must've been really expensive" he worried at his lip as he turned it over in his hands.

"I know a guy who makes them" he shrugged, though now he was watching him intently.

"Oh wow, well I guess that's okay then-" Makoto trailed off as he opened the smooth leather cover.

On the inside page was another watercolour illustration, but this time it was one of the author himself, sitting at Haru's desk and evidently immersed in his work. Underneath the picture was a short neatly handwritten message in Haru's familiar style of calligraphy. 

 _Makoto,_  
Happy birthday.  
I appreciate you being here for me.  
Haru  
  
"Haru..." He gasped, his eyes shooting up to meet with apprehensive blue "I love it. It's perfect, thank you."  
  
"Like I said, it's not much" Haru mumbled self consciously. But Makoto's heart was already swelling with affection, his face in a happy state of confusion between wanting to smile and wanting to cry. "The, uh... the rest of the pages are lined" he continued timidly "so you could use it to write your next story. If you want."

"I will" Makoto beamed "I'll use it and keep it forever" he enthused, holding it against his chest. "It's a very thoughtful gift, thank you."

"You already said that. A lot" Haru sighed.

"Did I?" He laughed. "Sorry. But in that case, why don't you come over here so I can thank you properly?" Makoto challenged with a grin, causing Haru to dryly shake his head in disbelief.

But then the artist actually did stand up from the coffee table, removing the notebook and taking its place across Makoto's lap, his arms slipping around the author's shoulders after leaning over to deposit his gift out of the way on the desk. And this time it was Haru's turn to look every bit as smug whilst Makoto could only stutter and blush.

"What?" the artist asked innocently, though of course he knew exactly what.

"N-no, I... You're..." Makoto's hands tentatively exploring Haru's graceful legs nonetheless "I just wasn't expecting that to be so easy."

"Well, it is your birthday" he reasoned calmly.

"I guess so" Makoto grinned.

He cradled Haru in his lap as they kissed, lazily pecking at soft lips until he slipped his tongue inside, a satisfied groan escaping from the back of his throat as he gathered him up in his arms. Makoto could tell that Haru was letting him set the pace, that he was allowing him to mould and slowly guide his body as the author grasped and pulled at the tempting thighs and denim-clad hips that were all too easily at hand. He broke from the kiss several times, predominantly just to catch little fleeting glimpses of Haru for those few short seconds before he opened his eyes again, whilst he was still in a daze and his face was so pretty and relaxed. It was an expression Makoto could easily get addicted to, though when those big blue eyes did flutter half open and refocus on him questioningly, he couldn't resist avidly closing in for some more. Haru tasted of spearmint and faint sweet citrus, and It sent Makoto almost lightheaded as he greedily indulged, exploring further and discovering the soft musky scent of vanilla that graced the delicate skin of Haru's neck.

Things really started to step up a notch when Haru was gradually shifted to straddle Makoto's thighs. It wasn't exactly clear as to who had initiated the change in position, their bodies and movements becoming more and more attuned and intuitive, but then the moment Haru's rear had grazed against the hardening ridge that was forming beneath Makoto's zipper, he knew that they were nearing the point where his own self-control would likely be severely tested.

"Ahh, Haru" he hissed, pulling away from the kiss and holding the artist still at the waist, his head ducking down to shield his eyes beneath his bangs. "If we keep going on like this..." he trailed off almost painfully.

"You're right" Haru said through slightly shortened breaths, moving to get off of him after a momentary pause.

And Makoto could only exhale a shaky lungful of air as he pushed the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets to calm himself down, and to secretly will away any traces of disappointment. It was a good thing that at least one of them could be trusted to be decisive, because in reality he hadn't actually wanted to stop at all.

And then there was a weight against his shins, and Makoto removed his hands from his face to find Haru on his knees on the floor, positioned between the author's parted legs.

"Ha-Haru?!" he near shrieked as he looked down at him aghast, his green eyes wide with shock and his face already rapidly burning up.

"What?" and again, he knew exactly what. Though this time he didn't look so innocent.

"Wha-whatareyoudoing?" he gulped as Haru laid his forearm and then his chin on top of Makoto's knee, his heart now pounding in his chest.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he replied with his own, more coherent question, his voice slightly slurred as his jaw rested on the back of his wrist.

"Um, but what about-" his eyes shot in panic to the closed studio door.

"It's locked" Haru shrugged, and ridiculously Makoto felt slightly more relieved, even though he'd seen him do it himself.

"But Rin-"

"We're not meeting up for an hour or so" Haru countered, before slowly sitting back up again. "It's okay if you don't want to..."

"No!" Makoto surprised them both with how adamantly his denial rang out against the echoey walls of the room. "It's not that," he adjusted his volume, his hand reaching out of its own accord to prevent the artist from moving any further away. "It's just... um, i-is it okay? Will... you be okay?" he swallowed thickly.

"Maybe I should be asking you that" Haru muttered irritably, though in direct contradiction to his grumpy tone he gently ran his fingers up the inside seam of Makoto's tightening jeans.

"Mnfh" Makoto bit his lip, his entire lower half performing a rather undignified spasm.

"Relax" the artist drawled as he moved himself back into position, both of his hands now rubbing along Makoto's thighs, his hips and drifting in towards his groin. Haru looked up at him for confirmation as his fingers idled over the button at his fly, and Makoto could only vigorously nod his head in return, his eyes squeezing shut and an edgy breath of air ruffling his fringe as he felt his jeans slowly being loosened.

This was actually happening. Haru was going to... with his... And the thought alone already had Makoto's dick twitching in his underwear. His palms were becoming sweaty where they gripped on to the cushion of the couch by his sides, and his breath was already starting to hitch in his throat. It was the stuff of a teenage wet dream, and if Makoto wasn't careful it would all be over too quickly if he didn't calm himself down.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Haru licking his kiss-swollen lips, his gaze focused down at the prominent bulge he'd uncovered moments before, the look of confident concentration on his face somehow achieving the impossible and soothing the author as well. But then Haru dipped his hand beneath the waistband of Makoto's boxers, his slim fingers feeling cool on his length as he gently eased him free.

"Oh god" Makoto whined, his hips doing another involuntary buck, his joints going rigid as Haru began to stroke.

He was fully hard within minutes, little embarrassing whimpers falling from his lips as he looked down at where Haru was busily jerking him off, and somehow just the proximity of Haru's face next to his own stiffened cock was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen.

That was until Haru tilted forward, his free hand splaying out across Makoto's stomach and hip to keep him in place, his head dipping low as he bent to kiss the side of Makoto's solid shaft. He couldn't help but curse under his ragged breath as Haru's pink tongue darted out and licked a stripe along his heated skin, another moan breaking free as the artist's hand resumed its work at the base.

"Shit! Haru...oh!" He groaned, his voice raising in pitch as Haru inched towards the tip.

"Language" the artist admonished quietly with a smirk as he pulled back a little, an excited glint in his eyes.

"Sorry-eee!" Makoto tried to answer back, but was cut off as Haru took the head of his cock in his mouth. "Fuck!"

Haru hummed at at the second expletive, sending vibrations fizzing along Makoto's nerves, his brain already overloaded by the heat surrounding his length, and causing his head to fall back against the couch as he gasped.

The feeling was absolutely incredible. Makoto wasn't sure whether it had anything to do with the fact that Haru was also a guy, or because of the strange connection they shared with each other, but then he wasn't very sure of anything anymore. The only thing that mattered now was the skilful tongue that was alternately curling around and flattening against the sensitive tip of his erection, stimulating his slit with expertise and drawing out needy droplets of pre-come. And God but it was Haru - Haru was doing this to him, and Makoto forced himself to lift his head off the back of the couch just so he could watch.

He'd never really appreciated how small Haru's mouth was before. How could someone be so cute and so sexy all at once? His cheeks were lightly flushed from his efforts and his almond shaped eyes had slipped closed, his long black lashes accentuating the sharpness of his delicate cheekbones. Makoto wanted to kiss him, but he also never wanted him to stop what he was doing with his mouth.

And then somehow, through the fog of his blissful euphoria and over the rasp of his own heavy breathing, Makoto managed to pick out the rumble of what sounded like voices reverberating down the corridor outside.

"Haru" he gasped, his heart rattling in his chest "someone's coming!" to which the artist merely peeked open his eyes, a brow arching ruefully the only visible sign he'd heard. "No!" Makoto spluttered, his face reddening even more "I mean there's someone outside!" he flailed an arm towards the door before covering his eyes with both hands in mortification.

He felt Haru slowly pull away with a pop and they listened, their heavy breathing forming a backdrop to Rin's muffled phone call.

"It's just Rin" Haru dismissed before dipping his head back down and flicking out his tongue.

"Nha! Haru wait!" Makoto jolted, his hands instantly uncovering his eyes and planting themselves on Haru's shoulders.

"He's on the phone" he reasoned flatly.

"But-"

"He gets it on with Yamazaki over there all the time. And I only know that because they come out looking like a couple of sweaty horny teenagers. It's gross."

"Hmm" Makoto hummed, he'd seen it for himself after all. Although now he was suddenly overly aware of the beads of sweat that had gathered at his own temples and slipped down the small of his back. They paused again as Rin fiddled with his keys as he evidently tried to open his studio one handed, chatting on the phone all the while. And then his door slammed shut.

Makoto looked back down at Haru, who after a moment resumed the beat of his hand at the base of his shaft, leading Makoto's fingers to clutch at his shoulders where they rested. Haru smirked a little before bringing his free hand up to move the author's fingers into his hair, still retaining eye contact as he lowered his head to begin taking him back into his mouth.

"Ohh" Makoto called out, unwilling and unable to look away from the sight of Haru swallowing him down, his shaking fingers slipping through the dark silk of Haru's hair, his hips starting to grind upwards as the artist hollowed his cheeks and began bobbing his head with increasing speed. "Oh god, yes..."

Haru began to moan as he sucked, and Makoto had to stop himself from thrusting harshly into his wonderfully hot perfect mouth, a task that was made all the more difficult when Haru reached into his boxers to lightly cup his balls with one hand.

Makoto growled, his jaw falling open as he let go of the last small amount of control he'd been hanging onto. He locked eyes with Haru again, lovingly tucking a stray tendril of hair behind Haru's ear, his chest heaving with the intensity of the moment. He felt his cock brush the back of Haru's throat, and then he was being swallowed, a rush of molten fire rushing through him as he was coming hard without warning, a choked call of Haru's name as he rolled his hips through his release.

He fell back onto the couch as a boneless mess, all but hyperventilating, and it took him several instances to remember who he was.

And then he remembered Haru.

"Oh my god!" He sat up bolt straight - or at least as much as anyone could without any bones "Haru I'm so sorry! I should've warned you! Are you okay? - I mean that was amazing - but did I hurt you? I'm so sorry!" He babbled on in one long breath.

"I'm fine" Haru replied calmly, although his voice sounded somewhat croaky and his eyes were a little bit wet.

"I'm sorry you had to, um... swallow that" Makoto apologised, feeling like a total jerk. "S-should I do you now?" He asked with all the delicacy of a man who just came so hard he may have even passed out for a second.

"It's fine" he reassured again, this time with a little smile "you can return the favour for my birthday."

"That was the best, you know..." he said bashfully as he tucked himself back in and zipped up the fly on his jeans.

"Blowjob?" Haru asked with a tiny grin as he got up from the floor.

"Yeah" Makoto breathed, twining his fingers with Haru's and pulling him down to his lap. He leaned in for a tender kiss, before being rudely interrupted by the bang of a fist at the door.

"Nanase?" Rin shouted "you in there fish boy?" To which Haru instantly bristled, ready to throw back some equally juvenile insult.

"Not yet" Makoto whispered, tightening his hold "I want to stay here with you for a while. Like this" he nuzzled closer.

"The pub's booked for seven thirty" Rin called, before exhaling loudly. "Where the fuck has he got to now?"

 

 

.  
.  
.

 

 

  
(Three hours later: "But Haru, your birthday's not until June!")

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for how late this chapter is; looking back, the last update was posted mid February, meaning I effectively missed out an entire month of my writing schedule. Unacceptable!!! 
> 
> But - and I think we know each other well enough by now - during that time I was actually quite ill with the plague. So, as you'd expect with that type of thing, I got signed off work and had to go stay with my parents for a week whilst I recovered, and although the rest and pampering I received was some real good shit, I didn't much have the energy for writing fluffy boys. 
> 
> Then over Easter I was practically forced to go to a cute little holiday cottage I'd rented with some friends; there was a lot of drinking and late nights, and although it was March (in England) we did this giant fucking green thing they're calling 'outside'. Ugh.
> 
> So yeah, excuses excuses. And maybe you didn't even notice the absence, but I wanted to explain myself - that I didn't just forget about it or suddenly give up, and I really hope this isn't too crappy considering I'm still pretty knackered. Was this OOC? I can't tell. Regardless, thanks for sticking with me. X
> 
> [Also: Leftover Easter egg for anyone who can pinpoint exactly where my medicine kicked in.]


	26. Chapter 26

 

 

  
Makoto pushed open the bright yellow door to Matilda’s, and with his other arm he gently ushered Haru inside before him, his hand naturally drifting to caress the small of the artist’s back as they were engulfed by the vibrant sights and sounds of the lively theme bar.

“You’re late!” and Rin was on them even before Makoto’s eyes had fully adjusted to the familiarly dim environment.

“Makoto fell asleep” Haru shrugged, gesturing behind him towards the admittedly regretful culprit.

“Haru!” he whined, his guilty eyes avoiding the disapproving glance he subsequently received from the sculptor.

“It’s true” the artist only raised a brow.

“Yeah, I know” he conceded sheepishly “but you could’ve woken me up – or at least used a better excuse.”

“Okay. We got lost on the five minute walk over here” Haru said blandly.

“Hey!” Makoto couldn’t help but laugh, giving the artist a playful little shove.

“…Whatever” Rin squinted at them dubiously, plainly not impressed.

“Sorry we’re late” Makoto apologised properly.

“Nah - no worries” he shook his head with a grin, slapping Makoto on the back and steering him into the bar. “Happy birthday mate, come on we’ve got you a table.”

He pointed them over to a spot that they’d reserved; one of the wooden pub chairs decorated with several neon party balloons, each of them augmented with one of Rin’s distinctive spooky dragon faces, sketched out in black marker pen.

“Very funny” Makoto groaned, as he flicked at one of the balloons. “Haru! Are you laughing at me?”

“No” the artist lied smoothly with a shake of his head, though suddenly his jaw seemed suspiciously tight, a slight curl to his lips whilst his shoulders were heaving just a little, and of course Rin was looking particularly pleased with himself. Makoto was glad that Haru was so obviously amused, but he couldn’t help but feel his face heating up from all the attention, especially as he awkwardly greeted the others that were seated around the table.

“You remember Sousuke right?” Rin helpfully did the introductions as he and Makoto took their seats, the author's chair squeaking rather comically as the rubber of the balloons chafed together. “And Seijiiro, from the book launch? He’s Momo’s older brother – but don’t worry” he said under his breath “apparently Mini-Mikoshiba’s got his ‘Bug Club’ tonight so we might not see him till later. He’s a nice kid and all, but Jesus he can talk.”

"Hi, yeah, I remember" Makoto smiled and nodded a little awkwardly, as the two rather intimidating men broke away from their own discussion and welcomed him to the table.

"Happy birthday Tachibana" Yamazaki's low, calm voice spoke out.

"Thanks" Makoto smiled, feeling a little more at ease.

"My little sis is around here somewhere" Rin muttered, looking about with a scowl of irritation as he twisted in his seat between the two of them.

"She's taking a call" Yamazaki tipped his bottle of beer towards the back of the room, to where Gou was leaning against the dark wood panelled wall with her phone pressed against one ear, and her hand covering the other in an attempt to hold a conversation. She was standing next to a blue and yellow surfboard that'd been hung up as a part of the Aussie themed decoration, the large piece of fibreglass completely dwarfing her stature and making her appear even more petite than usual. Gou noticed as everyone turned to look in her direction, and she smiled and waved at Makoto before re-covering her ear and continuing to speak into the reliever.

"Here" Haru nudged Makoto in the shoulder and handed him a beer as he turned, lifting his own drink in a greeting to the others.

"Thanks Haru" he beamed, continuing to watch him as he took the empty seat to his right.

"So," Mikoshiba interjected with a smirk "apparently you're not a big fan of Rin's dragons eh?"

”They are an acquired taste" Haru drawled, either gallantly coming to Makoto's rescue or taking the opportunity for a cheap swipe at his friend, it wasn't entirely clear.

"Oi!" Rin protested "just because _you_ suddenly decided out of nowhere to illustrate a book for little squirts-"

"Hey!" Gou reprimanded with a grin as she appeared rather ominously behind her brother, and vengefully pinched at the tip of his ear. "At least _they're_ making money" she smiled smugly as Rin whipped around in his seat, a protective hand swiftly planted over the side of his head.

"I've got sales lined up at the moment-" Rin objected defensively, but it seemed Gou had already moved on.

"Happy birthday Makoto" she smiled at him warmly as she moved past the affronted sculptor, who then continued to mutter his retorts safe in the knowledge she was no longer paying attention. "Rei and Nagisa are still stuck at the office I'm afraid" and she waved the phone held in the palm of her hand "but they send their wishes too."

"Thank you" he smiled back "it's nice to see you."

“Oh, and hello Haru…” Gou lilted with a smile, her elongated vowels and softened tone of voice clearly leading towards her angling for a favour, “Make me a cocktail?” she cooed. “I know you just got here, but Sasabe always uses too much ice and the lovely ones you make definitely have more taste to them.”

“Get Rin to do it” Haru suggested softly, tilting his head towards her brother before taking a sip from his beer.

“Mn, thing is” she persisted “the ones I’d like to try have all got dirty names…”

“Ew, no way” Rin scrunched his nose.

“It’s just a drink” Haru spoke flatly.

“It’s weird” Rin corrected, Gou nodding sagely by his side “go on, go make a big sexy drink for my little baby sister” he grimaced.

Gou rolled her ruby coloured eyes, but then directed them expectantly at Haru, an imploring smile slipping easily onto her face and a persuasive hand lightly finding its way onto his shoulder. Inevitably, the artist exhaled in defeat as he put down his still mostly full glass, and he glanced at Makoto apologetically before lazily getting to his feet and making his way over to the bar, Gou following on happily behind him.

Makoto watched him as he ducked through the hinged narrow section of the counter, as he nodded a silent greeting to the owner and patiently leant across the bar to browse over the cocktail list with his new special customer. It was nice, seeing him in a place where he felt relaxed and with people he was obviously comfortable with. And the image of Haru stationed behind the bar reminded Makoto of that time when Rin had coerced him into performing their flashy routine, of how impressed and amazed Makoto had been, of how mysterious he’d seemed at the time.

Actually, scrub that – because Haru was still pretty mysterious even now. Or maybe, Makoto thought as his eyes lingered on him contentedly; maybe a more accurate word would be enigmatic. He was still a puzzle, a wonderful jigsaw of a person that he was slowly and joyfully beginning to piece together. But a real person, a person with a distinct collection of habits and insecurities that went towards his uniquely complex character. And Makoto felt like perhaps he’d been granted a rare privilege in getting to know the real Haru a little bit more since then.

“It’s going well I take it?”

“Hm?” Makoto swung back round towards the question.

“You and fish boy” Rin smirked at him knowingly "you realise you're sighing like a high-schooler right?"

"I am?" Makoto looked to the others around the small round table in embarrassment, but luckily Yamazaki and Mikoshiba had already returned to their own conversation. "Sorry" he mumbled as his cheeks flushed again, his guilty eyes drawing back to where Haru was busy skilfully measuring out shots of exotic looking liquor.

"It's fine" Rin shook his head, the smirk leaving his face to be replaced by a slightly more serious expression. "It's good" he clarified further, taking a sip of his beer. "You're good for him, Writer Guy" and then the teasing was back "I'm just glad you two finally managed to get your shit together."

"Yeah, me too" and this time Makoto was self aware enough to prevent the happy little sigh from sliding past his lips. "But he's good for me too, I can't even begin to explain" though he couldn't help the tiny smile as he cast his eyes down to where his joined hands rested awkwardly on the tabletop. "Well - and I guess you saw for yourself - I was kind of a mess when he left. That was probably the longest, hardest and most depressing two months of my life - and I've worked in telesales" he joked weakly. "But yeah, really I'm just so relieved now that he's back and talking to me, and letting me be with him."

"Jesus" Rin exhaled, causing Makoto to look up apprehensively. "Man you've got it bad."

"I guess so" he chuckled with a shrug. "And also, thank you Rin" Makoto made earnest eye contact with the sculptor "for setting me right on a few things, that time we talked at the exhibition, I've not had the chance to thank you properly. I needed a bit of a reality check I suppose, and you stopped me from rushing in and probably making things ten times worse than they already were. What you said to me, about Haru and the way he deals with things, it actually makes a lot of sense now."

"S'okay" Rin muttered, looking a little bashful.

"You're a good friend, to Haru, and to me. I'm glad he's got someone like you in his life.

"W-well, yeah - he's damn lucky" Rin stumbled his words before self consciously taking a sip of his pint. "And-" he set it down a fraction too heavily "you better not make him run like that again" he said pointing a finger at him and trying his best to look stern. "He's a part of my family y'know, and I swear to god if you screw him over you'll have me to deal with. And Gou, and believe me, you don't want to see that. Haru, he's... he's not as strong and apathetic as he'd like everyone else to believe."

"I won't, I promise" Makoto spoke sincerely, his hands slightly lifting up from the table and a subtle little crease forming between his brow at the mere suggestion "I'd never want to hurt him, honestly, it's the truth." And he could feel his chest begin to constrict with just the thought of Haru in distress. "It's one of the things I've learned - that you helped me see, actually - just how vulnerable Haru can be sometimes, underneath all of that sarcasm of his."

"Hm" Rin agreed with a nod "although a lot of the time he's just being a jerk, you know that right?" he grinned, as Makoto snorted a laugh through his nose.

"But, I do understand" the author continued, tracing clear lines down the condensation on his glass distractedly. "Haru's been through a lot" Makoto lowered his voice, sparing a quick glance over to the bar to ensure the man in question was still occupied, his newly narrowed eyes then returning to his actions on the table. "He was betrayed by the ones who were supposed to support him, and so he doesn't let many people get close enough incase it happens again. And, I think because of this, he takes his relationships very seriously, I get that. But I take them seriously too, and I want to be with him as long as he'll let me, to protect him and make him realise how amazing he is. Because... I love him" he finished simply.

"Shit" Rin croaked, and Makoto lifted his head just in time to catch him hurriedly dragging the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Are- are you okay?" He asked a little perplexed, leaning in towards him reassuringly.

"Yeah, I'm fine" he sniffed, purposely avoiding Makoto's worried gaze "I'm fine" he repeated as he hastily wiped beneath his misty eyes with his fingers. "Ugh, this is so stupid" he scoffed at himself, a bit more humour returning to his voice, though it was still a little shaky.

"What's all this?" And they both turned to find Gou standing beside them, two luridly coloured and shamelessly umbrella-ed drinks in her hands, her questioning eyebrow raised high in amusement.

"Nothing" Rin instantly rebuffed, as Haru then appeared behind her, four more ridiculous cocktails held together in his practiced grasp.

Fortunately, their arrival had captured the attention of Yamazaki and Mikoshiba, and the subject was quickly forgotten, the latter whistling in appreciation as Gou set one of the drinks down in front of him and took to her own seat triumphantly. Rin cleared his throat and gratefully accepted one of the glasses from Haru, before unceremoniously dumping out all of the fruit and the straws and swiftly taking a large enthusiastic gulp, seeming to not even care what was in it.

Makoto stifled a laugh as Haru sat down next to him, the artist regarding him curiously for a moment, before refocusing his attention to slide a tall, bright pink cocktail slowly and purposefully across the table towards Yamazaki. There was a tense few moments of silence as they both observed the excessively girly beverage, the challenge in the air almost palpable as Haru somewhat successfully fought back a smirk.

"...And this is for you" he broke the standoff coolly, turning to Makoto and placing one of the last two drinks in front of him.

"Thanks" he accepted it with a smile; this one red at the bottom, graduating into a peachy hue with a layer of foam and a glossy looking cherry perched on the top. As cocktails went, this one actually looked pretty tasty. "What is it?" Makoto asked as he took a generous sip through the straw.

Haru moved in close, cupping his hand between his lips and the author's ear, his hot breath ghosting against his skin as he whispered the drink's rather fittingly dirty name. Makoto swallowed hard as his cheekbones coloured for the umpteenth time, unable to look away as Haru sat back in his chair, his bottom lip caught playfully between his teeth.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its kinda late again *limps off into the sunset*


	27. Chapter 27

 

 

  
Haru was fumbling haphazardly with his keys; they were standing in the narrow echoey hallway outside of the artist's apartment, Makoto positioned behind him and steadying him with both hands at his waist, though the action just so happened to help keep his own continuously drifting balance too, as the alcohol in Makoto's bloodstream persisted in fighting against him.

He couldn't stop giggling as Haru repeatedly misjudged the position of the lock with his key, the other chuckling along a little stupidly too at his own apparent lack of coordination. In fact, they hadn't seemed to stop laughing since they'd left Matilda's Bar, clumsily waving the others off into the night and then bumping shoulders and swaying around as they made their way back to Haru's place a few streets away.

The early evening get together had rapidly morphed into an all night drinking session, the eventual arrival of Rei and Nagisa, and then latterly Momotaro, had served to keep the party atmosphere rolling instead of naturally falling into a lull, and it'd been well past normal closing time when in the end they'd been good-naturedly kicked out onto the street. Of course, initially it was all in aid of Makoto's birthday, but after a few too many drinks he'd accidentally spilled the beans about their very tentative plans to collaborate on another book - Haru slapping his own face and groaning in disbelief as Gou then practically exploded with excitement.

After that the frequency of each new round of drinks had seemed to increase almost exponentially, as everyone had then rallied around to show their support in cold, bubbly liquid form. Makoto also had a sneaking suspicion that at least some part of the celebration was to do with the fact that Haru and himself were back together, although nobody actually said as much directly. They hadn't told anyone they were officially seeing each other, but somehow he just got the feeling that everybody knew. Regardless, it'd been a wonderful evening, full of banter and well wishes, Makoto's face still ached a little from smiling so much and he was filled with a happy boozy warmth.

"Need some help?" He slurred, resting his chin on Haru's shoulder from behind and pointedly looking down to where the artist's usually precision guided hand still wavered in his attempt to unlock the door.

"Mmh" Haru grunted, though Makoto could feel his smile against his own cheek "door keeps moving" he explained.

"Here..." Makoto chuckled, running his hand along Haru's outstretched arm and feeling his way down over his wrist, wrapping his fingers over the backs of his knuckles and attempting to guide the key into the lock. This time their joint effort was marginally more accurate in its aim, but still they skimmed across the surface of the keyhole at a weird angle and jittered away to the side unsuccessfully.

"S'not as easy as it looks" Haru sighed as he leant back against Makoto's chest defeated, the author registering for the first time just how close together they were standing, how he could feel the vibrations of Haru's low groggy voice rumbling in his throat. Makoto couldn't help himself as he turned his head a fraction to the side, pressing his nose against Haru's neck and inhaling deeply, his lips instinctively following to lightly brush the exposed juncture of his shoulder.

"Mmf" Haru jolted suddenly, almost as if he'd been falling asleep and only that moment realised where they were. "We need to get in" an uncharacteristic whine to his tone before he was swiftly heaving himself forward and bracing against the door frame with one arm, his other - still joined with Makoto's - diligently feeling out the lock. Makoto was torn between helping him out and reattaching himself to his neck, but for better or worse the decision was made for him, as finally the key slotted smoothly with a metallic rasp and Haru looked back over his shoulder, his eyes a little unfocused but nonetheless triumphant.

They commenced a sort of tipsy form of ballet once inside, each balancing on alternate wobbly legs as they bumbled about, their feet shuffling around as they tried to remove their shoes and socks without having to resort to untying any laces. Haru twisted around in the confines of the brightly lit genkan area, his disgruntled muttering growing more and more audible as both his slender arms became entangled in his jacket, the sleeves turning inside out behind his back and effectively restraining his forearms, his hands rendered useless as he struggled on in vain.

"Get off" he ordered his jacket gruffly, though his voice was still rather dazed. It was cute, and Makoto couldn't help but giggle. "H-hey!" the artist spun around trying to locate the source of the laughter, the movement causing him to become a little disorientated as he stumbled, losing his footing and unable to steady himself with his hindered arms as they were.

Luckily, Makoto still had enough presence of mind and latent big brother reflexes to catch him before he could fall, pulling Haru the short distance forward into his only slightly more sturdy frame, wrapping his arms around him like a puppy claiming a toy. "Hey" he murmured in return.

"I'm stuck" Haru conceded, hiding his face against Makoto's chest and wriggling his arms behind his back to illustrate his predicament.

"You're drunk" the author beamed, swiftly giving in to his almost as equally intoxicated brain's desires and nuzzling greedily into Haru's hairline with his nose.

"So 're you" Haru countered, pulling away a bit and causing them both to falter in their balance.

"Mhm" Makoto agreed happily "but I think Haru's more drunker than I am," and he began to sway them gently for absolutely no reason whatsoever as he continued his train of thought almost wistfully. "Maybe it's 'cause you're so small."

"Not small" Haru grumbled indignantly, barging Makoto lightly with his upper arm, the author apologising with a smile before finally taking the hint and beginning to help him out of his constraints. And it was true, Haru was a little over six foot and so would not be considered short by any means - but Makoto was easily taller, and right then as he hugged him tightly and they fumbled with the jacket, he couldn't help but see the other as somewhat dainty and in need of his protection.

"Anyway, 'is your fault for ordering so many cocktails" Haru pointed out, surreptitiously leaning his head against Makoto's shoulder as they worked behind his back.

"Only because you kept giving them such dirty names!" he instantly retorted, his voice a little squeaky, "how was I s'posed to say no to more of that?!" and he broke the hug as Haru finally dropped the jacket to the floor.

"Oh?" Haru smirked lopsidedly as he absently rubbed at his wrists. "And which did you like best? The screaming orgasm perhaps?" he bit his lip "the slow, comfortable screw?" and gently he placed his hands flat against Makoto's chest, leaning up to whisper hotly in his ear as he'd done so several times already that night "... or maybe it was the snowball?"

Makoto gulped, his hooded green eyes trained on Haru's upturned lips as the artist pulled away. He'd have to admit to having needed the surprisingly sordid meaning behind that particular drink explaining to him, but perhaps he'd be a little less willing to share the fact that the rather vivid description Haru had whispered into his ear had sent a sudden tension pulsing to his groin, and then he'd been left sitting with a rather uncomfortable problem.

"That-" he cleared his throat "that one was good."

"Yeah?" Haru grazed, their darkened eyes now locked, and Makoto was suddenly aware of how heavily he was breathing.

He took a step as Haru reached forward and within a few seconds they were crashing together into a fevered kiss. Makoto's arms wound themselves around the artist's waist and hips as he pulled him in closer, Haru's fingers finding their way into Makoto's hair as they gasped into each others mouths. It was sudden and fierce and demanding, both sides just as enthusiastic and hungry for more contact as the other. Makoto's hands shifted lower to grab possessively at Haru's perfect ass, and the latter whimpered into their kiss as they stumbled backwards into the plain white wall of the hallway.

"Haru" Makoto moaned, pushing him further into the solid surface, his lips making a trail across his jaw and down over his neck, hot breaths caressing soft skin. "You've been driving me crazy all night" he murmured, nipping at his throat with his teeth and causing Haru to bump his head back against the wall. "And" Makoto continued, taking hold of Haru's wrists to pin him down further "you're just so dirty when you're drunk" he whispered, sucking a mark onto the pale exposed patch of his shoulder.

"And you're" Haru countered breathlessly "you're just so easy" and he slipped his knee between the author's legs, pressing his thigh right up against the hard prominent bulge at his crotch.

"Fuck" Makoto wheezed, his forehead dropping to the crook of Haru's neck, his hips moving on their own to reciprocate the pressure, readjusting his stance so that soon he was grinding slowly into Haru, keeping him hemmed in against the wall using the full weight of his larger body.

He could feel Haru growing harder even between the layers of denim that separated their skin, and Makoto couldn't get enough, his own hips stuttering each time Haru moaned, the sweet noises that escaped fuelling the fire that already had Makoto flushed and sweating and struggling for air. It was pretty evident that now adrenaline and lust had usurped the alcohol in his system for full control of his brain, his movements no longer clumsy or accidental, and though admittedly he was still rather lightheaded it seemed his intoxication was being caused by something else entirely.

Makoto pushed his tongue back in to Haru's mouth, angling his head to the side as he drew Haru's wrists up above their heads, his thumbs lightly brushing the palms of his hands as they continued to entwine their tongues and move against each other. Haru answered by lifting his leg to wrap around Makoto's outer thigh, pulling them closer, the author instantly switching to pin his wrists in one hand so that he could take hold of that leg and hike it upward, running his fingers greedily from the back of his knee over his thigh, and down to claim his ass.

They both groaned in tandem as Makoto's hips bucked hard and jolted them into the wall, the kiss breaking apart as they both gasped for air, though neither of them stopped the grinding and rutting against each other.

"Haru" Makoto whined "I'm gonna come in my pants if we keep on going like this" and he smiled as Haru raised an eyebrow at his unusually vulgar turn of phrase. But that smile subsequently melted into an almost pained expression, his brow creasing together as Haru rolled his body particularly sinfully against him, apparently intent on testing that very theory. "Seriously" Makoto growled after regaining his voice, both hands now sliding around Haru's waist in an attempt to keep him still. "I'll finish and pass out on you, I know it - I'm already too worked up."

"Alright" Haru nodded after a few moments of consideration, bringing his freed hands down to push at Makoto's shoulders, indicating for him to move away. He did so, with no small amount of reluctance, stepping back as Haru went about securing the lock and chain on the front door, as he hung his fallen jacket on one of the pegs and then kicked their abandoned shoes away to the side of the mat. Makoto looked down almost apologetically at the erection straining against the inside of his jeans; somehow the atmosphere felt a lot more sober than it had just minutes before, and he ran a dejected hand through his hair as he let out a sigh in disappointment.

"Bedroom?" Haru purred into his ear from behind him and instantly lifting Makoto's spirits.

"Absolutely" he enthused, after briefly raising his eyes to the heavens in a silent thankful prayer. "But" he hesitated, looking down towards the darkened end of the hallway, to where the four white painted doors all stood closed "I'm not sure which one is Haru's room, I slept on the couch last time, and I was really hungover remember?"

"Hmm" Haru simply hummed in recollection, a small smile present on his lips as he moved past Makoto, taking ahold of his hand to lead him down the hall. "I can't promise you won't have a hangover" he drawled in his usual low, husky tone "but you definitely won't be sleeping on the couch."

Makoto beamed, safe in the knowledge that Haru's back was turned as they made their way to the bedroom, because circumstances were indeed totally different to the last time that he'd stayed over, and he was sure that what he was about to do would've completely blown his tiny mind back then.

Haru opened one of the doors and led them into a darkened room, dropping Makoto's hand to make his way over to a table before switching on a frosted rectangular lamp, its softly defused glow casting a warm white light against the walls. Makoto took the opportunity to look around as Haru emptied his pockets of his wallet and his phone, placing them on the table with his keys.

Behind the door, the wall was taken up by three beige sections of a sliding wardrobe, one of the panels left slightly open to reveal just a little of the clothes rail at the top and the neat piles of sheets and extra blankets underneath. Above the table, which Makoto now recognised as a desk complete with a matching wooden chair, there was a small deeply set window with a blind drawn down most of the way, a little potted plant positioned just so to catch any rays of sunlight during the day. In the corner was a double bed, maybe a little bit smaller than Makoto's own, the linen a pale shade of duck egg blue which, along with its downy ripples and feathery shadows somehow resembled the calm surface of the sea.

"You can sit" Haru said from somewhere behind him.

"Ah, sorry!" Makoto jumped, instantly feeling awkward as he moved to sit on the bed, all of his previous alcohol induced nerve resolutely evaporating as he nervously smoothed the plush blue duvet with his hands.

"Makoto, relax" Haru smirked, finally gaining the author's attention as he pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing those pale taut muscles underneath that had Makoto's mouth watering in seconds. "What happened to the guy who was about to come in his pants?" He teased further, hands comically planted on the jut of his hip bones, now visible above the enticing low rise of his jeans.

"Oh god, I said that didn't I?" Makoto slumped, covering his face after finally dragging his eyes away from the softly lit planes of Haru's bared skin.

"Changed your mind?" Haru asked him gently, no hint of anger or frustration in his tone.

"What? No!" Makoto's head shot back up "it's just, I've never been in Haru's room before, and Haru's bed..." he stroked the covers again. "I'm already" he swallowed dryly "like this" and moved uncomfortably in his pants "I don't think I can-"

"Hey, it's alright" Haru soothed "I wasn't planning on having sex tonight if that's what you're worried about" and Makoto couldn't help but blush, which was pretty ridiculous all considering. "We can save all that for when we're sober, and just get off like last time yeah?"

"Yeah" Makoto smiled, nodding dumbly up at him.

"Good. Now take off your pants" Haru deadpanned, causing Makoto to chuckle in relief. Honestly, he felt a little silly as he went about unbuttoning his jeans, but in some way he found he kind of liked it when Haru took charge.

He kicked them off as requested, and was about to get rid of his shirt too, when his gaze caught on Haru's slender fingers as he worked on undoing his buckle, as he slid the leather belt from its loops and undid the fly of his jeans. Makoto hissed as he palmed himself through his boxers, eyes raking over the artist's naked body as he slipped his own tight boxer briefs down his thighs and finally kicked them away.

"Tch" Haru grumbled as he approached the bed "do I have to tell you to do everything?"

"Maybe?" Makoto retorted with a grin as his eyes trailed up to Haru's face, some of his former bravado evidently on the return.

"Get on the bed" and Makoto complied in a flash.

He grit his teeth as Haru straddled his legs, pulled his boxers down and threw them away, his erection springing up and bobbing against his own stomach.

"Sit up" Haru instructed, and Makoto pushed himself up from where he'd been lying back propped on his elbows, Haru wasting no time in tugging off the unwanted shirt over his head.

And suddenly they were _both_ naked, and Haru was seated between Makoto's thighs, his own long graceful legs stretching over the author's hips. He edged a little closer, and with a shudder Makoto felt Haru's length slide up against his erection, he took in a sharp gulp of air and wrapped his arms tightly around Haru's back, his fingers clawing at his shoulder blades as he roughly pulled him further into his lap.

"Ah" Haru gasped "I didn't tell you to-" but Makoto cut his quip short with a deep and forceful kiss.

The feeling of skin on skin was infinitely better than what they'd been doing back there in the hallway; in this position he felt so close to Haru, could feel him shaking in his arms as they began rocking into each other, could hear as his breath became caught in his throat. He sucked another mark onto Haru's neck, licking and tasting him as he panted against his skin. He felt as Haru's fingers found their way back into his hair, tugging and petting as together their bodies moved quicker.

"Haru... so good" Makoto grunted, his voice turned deep and gravelly with all his pent up desire.

"Mmnh" Haru seemed to agree as he moaned in response, his thighs squeezing tighter around Makoto's waist.

He couldn't help but pull back a little to admire Haru's beautifully flushed face, his eyes having dropped closed and his lip caught between his teeth, his bangs slightly damp and sticking to his forehead. Makoto watched him through dark hooded eyes as Haru continued his hypnotically sensual rhythm, entranced as he followed a little bead of sweat that ran down from his temple to his jaw.

"Stop... staring" Haru huffed, and Makoto stifled a laugh as he kissed his complaints away once again.

Makoto's hands roamed to all the parts of Haru he could reach, stoking along his thighs and down to the long legs that stretched out behind him, kneading his supple behind and running his fingers up his muscular sides and over his back. It made his heart ache just to be with Haru like this again, and just like the last time each minute seemed to stretch into hours and it all felt so much like a dream.

This time however, it was Makoto who took the initiative, his hand sneaking down whilst he distracted Haru with his demanding tongue, and encircled his grasp around the both of them. Haru yelped into his mouth as Makoto began to pump in time, the smooth hot skin beneath his fingers becoming slick with droplets of precome.

Haru arched his spine, tilting away from him as he threw back his head, Makoto hungrily taking in the sight of his exposed heaving chest and rippling stomach muscles, the angle inadvertently applying extra pressure against his balls.

"Shit Haru" Makoto stammered, his hand faltering slightly as he felt the heat begin to pool in his core "you're so... Ah, Haru I lov-" and this time it was Haru's turn to shut him up with a kiss, crossing his legs at the author's back to bring them even closer together.

Haru joined his own hand to Makoto's pumping fist, and at the added touch his hips spasmed uncontrollably, his cock twitching hard against Haru's as he came with a shout and seismic shudder, spurting over their fingers and even up onto his stomach. He felt Haru clench his thighs around his waist a second later, a strangled gasp as he also reached his climax, bodies still grinding through their orgasm as they raced to take in air.

After several minutes of lazy kisses and heavy breathing Haru untwined himself from around him and got up on slightly shakes legs, he picked up his boxer briefs from the floor and used them to clean himself up, before tossing them to Makoto for him to do the same. The author flopped back down to sprawl across the bed, a sated smile plastered over his face as he pushed his sweaty fringe back and off his forehead.

"Get under the covers" Haru ordered whilst trying not to yawn, and failing rather adorably.

But Makoto acquiesced nonetheless, and he moved his boneless frame as little as possible, shuffling underneath the fluffy blue duvet with impressive skill, perhaps only matched by that of sand worms or moles or some other type of burrowing creature.

Haru merely rolled his eyes and lifted up the cover to slide underneath, immediately being captured by a sleepy Makoto and pulled into a spooning position against the author's chest.

"Night Haru" he slurred through a dopey smile into the back of the artist's neck, arm draping over him and coming to a rest on his stomach.

"Mn" Haru sighed, relaxing back into his hold.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this was one long shameless pwp - but I promise we'll be getting back aboard the plot train for chapter 28 (though that's not to say there won't be any more visits to smutsville before we're done here)


	28. Chapter 28

 

 

 

Fluorescent blotches of residual light temporarily marred Makoto’s vision as the flashbulb dazzled and the digital beeps and subsequent claps of the camera shutter continued to bustle around them. They’d been called in to the office at Future Fish, and were currently being photographed for a new promotional article that would be written in-house and sent out to be featured in literary magazines and glossy Sunday supplements. Makoto was a little relieved that he wouldn’t have to face another intensive round of reporter’s questions, though as he stood with Haru in front of a bright white studio background, shifting his balance and not quite knowing what to do with his limbs, he couldn’t help but wonder which one of the two options might actually have been less awkward.

“Yeah, that’s good” the photographer nodded in approval before snapping another shot and continuing to pace and pivot around in front of them, angling the chunky telephoto lens of his Digital SLR and occasionally readjusting the incline of the two lamp-reflectors stationed at either side of the set. He seemed nice enough, although he dressed like a teenage hipster despite being well into his forties – board shorts and an ugly sweater, an oversized beanie no doubt to obscure the beginnings of a telltale receding hairline.

Having said that, Makoto was hardly in a position to criticise another’s fashion choices; he’d turned up that morning in a suit for Christ’s sake. He’d faltered somewhat when Haru had arrived just a few minutes later, dressed as he usually was, in slim-line layers of soft dark fabric and a pair of smart skinny black jeans. As a result, after belatedly questioning his own decisions and being smirked at by a calm and collected Haru, he’d shrugged off the suit jacket and rolled back the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt, and was in the process of loosening his tie so that he could forgo it altogether, in the hopes of coming across even a little less stuffy, or worse over eager and naive.

But just at that moment, before he could finish undoing the scruffy knot at his neck, Gou had walked in and she’d grinned at them fervently where they stood side by side in front of the boardroom window, a concept in her mind visibly coming together as she looked them up and down. Apparently, it was a good look, and that they ‘balanced and complemented each other perfectly’ – highlighting the contrast between the author and the artist. She seemed a little too enthusiastic over how well they went together, but Makoto simply put it down to the fact that she was probably still pretty fired up about the prospect of a second book on the way.

“Nanase san” the photographer considered thoughtfully, “can we see a smile?” and he lifted the camera back up to his face in ready anticipation.

At that Makoto’s curiosity got the better of him and he turned just a few degrees to look at Haru, at the way in which the deadpan artist seemed to be losing an internal battle, against raising a sardonic brow in response to the thoroughly unreasonable request. Makoto chuckled softly and the photographer snapped a shot.

“Ha, Nice!” Gou approved from the front of the room, from where she was standing beside a monitor and studying the photos as they uploaded onto the screen.

“Okay…” the photographer smiled, apparently changing tack “How about we have you two standing a little bit closer together? You’re obviously good friends, so we may as well play that up."

“Hm, good idea” Gou muttered with an obvious smirk, from her position behind the photographer.

"So... Tachibana san, if you could move in a little" and he gestured with his hands in that seemingly universal sign-language photographers used to to frame their subjects into shot, "and maybe, yeah put your hand on Nanase san's shoulder. Good" and he snapped away a few more times.

Makoto could feel the warmth of Haru's body beneath his fingers, the fine layer of smooth dark fabric clinging to his subtly muscular shoulder blade, his elegant bone structure and the gently regular motion of his calm breathing, in and out. Somehow he felt less awkward, which was strange, considering that they were now in an arguably more intimate position than they'd started with, but the unnerving surroundings and the scrutinising eyes just seemed to gradually melt away. He felt grounded simply by having some physical contact with Haru, and he subconsciously tightened his grip, a more natural and relaxed expression filtering onto his face.

"That's great!" the photographer gushed, raising his thumb in the air, and he turned to Gou who was grinning and nodding her head in approval. "Now... Nanase san, if you could cross your arms? Cool. And Tachibana - oh, hey Matsuoka san" he called over his shoulder "why don't we go ahead and get the book in this one too?"

"Um, okay" she agreed, looking around to find the copy she'd evidently brought with her to the shoot, before tottering onto the set in her leopard-print stilettos to hand the novel to him.

"Tachibana san, you're taller -" and Makoto thought he heard a little indignant grumble come from Haru "- so if you stand slightly behind..." the photographer manoeuvred him into place, so that half of his front was flush with Haru's back. He opened the book at a random point near the middle and held it out for him to take "if you could hold this so you can both see the page" and he adjusted the angle so the front cover would be more photogenic. "Good" he stepped back, and then the shutter clicked in quick succession.

They were both looking down at the open book in makoto's hand, the left page filled with the story's text, whilst half of the right side was taken up by one of Haru's illustrations - a beautiful ink and watercolour of a scene at the town's summer festival, where the little boy and girl played the goldfish scooping game. It was just one the many images that had instantly taken Makoto back to his childhood, and he huffed a small sigh as he felt the fondness bloom in his chest.

"Hmm..." the photographer pondered, and Makoto looked up from the page to find out what was in store for them next. "If you could just, yeah, Tachibana san just lean your other arm across Nanase san's shoulder, like this-" and he mimed a somewhat exaggerated draping motion with the arm not holding his camera.

Makoto slowly complied, resting his forearm against the back of Haru's neck in what felt suspiciously like a sort of hug, and consequently started to feel slightly embarrassed, hoping the blush he could sense slowly heating his face wouldn't actually show up under the studio lights. He knew he was being pathetic, feeling like a reluctant schoolboy being asked to hold hands with a girl, but although of course their relationship had been progressing rather nicely as of late, they hadn't exactly ventured into public displays of affection.

"Much better" the photographer carried on oblivious "you look more balanced, and y'know - _like bro's_ " he explained, and even Gou visibly winced in the background at the man's clear attempt to seem current.   
  
Makoto lowered his gaze back down to the book, aiming to replicate that same relaxed expression he'd been wearing moments before, trying not to concentrate too much on his new proximity to Haru; how his heart had begun to beat faster as he pressed his chest against the artist's back, how he could smell the fresh clean scent of his hair as he peered down over his shoulder and the photographer took more shots from a variety of different angles.

"That's good, now Nanase san if you could keep your arms crossed but look up at me?"

However, Haru's posture tensed just as he raised his head, and so Makoto instinctively looked up too.

Shigino was standing just inside the doorway with Gou, their agent talking animatedly in hushed but evidently excited tones as she periodically gestured over towards where they were positioned on the set. Shigino did not seem to share in her enthusiasm, his mouth set in a line and his violet eyes narrowed and focused directly at them.

"I need a word" the publicist demanded as he stalked across the room and straight into the photographer's shot.

"Uh, yeah" the guy said feebly as he dropped his camera and stepped back "I guess we can break?"

"So, you're doing another book?" Shigino addressed Haru directly, completely ignoring the photographer and more pointedly the author "when exactly were you planning on running this by me?"

"I..." Haru faltered, his voice sounding a little panicked as he stood up straight, pulling away from Makoto in the process. "I was going to talk to you-"

"Oh you were?" he enquired facetiously "well I suppose that means it's all just fine then?" He smiled, though it was painfully clear he was anything but pleased. "Shall we have that chat now?" He said calmly, in a manner that left no room for negotiation.

Haru's eyes flicked over to Makoto for a fraction of a second before he nodded.

 

“Cancel my one o’clock” Shigino ordered as he strode into his waiting room and on past the sleek modern reception desk. He gestured expectantly for Haru to go ahead of him into his office, turning abruptly and blocking the entranceway once the artist had silently complied. “Oh, and Aii” he addressed his assistant cheerfully “be a doll and fetch Tachibana some lunch from Bistro Provence would you? The garlic confit perhaps.”

“Of course sir!” Nitorii jumped up from his desk with enthusiasm, removing his Bluetooth and microphone headset and then gathering up his jacket and pulling a messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Wait- what?" Makoto questioned, frowning in confusion “no, I don’t need-”

“Thanks” Shigino patted the young man on the head as he passed, “He’ll be out here” and his light-hearted expression fell as he regarded the author with barely veiled contempt, his arm reaching across the door frame as Makoto took a step forward.

He tilted his head to the side in silent challenge as the author tried to look past him, before he slammed the heavy office door soundly in his face.

 

“Haruka!” Shigino barked as the door flew open again several long minutes later “will you just do as you’re told” he reprimanded like a rankled parent as he followed the artist out into the waiting room. “ _I said-_ ” he gritted his teeth, grabbing Haru by the shoulder and roughly spinning him round to face him.

Makoto growled in the back of his throat, instinctively rising from his chair and ready to intervene, his fists clenched tight at his sides as the adrenaline spiked in his bloodstream, eyes trained on the publicist whilst Haru outwardly seethed.

“You don’t-“

“I don’t what? Own you? Because, I kinda do” Shigino condescended openly, his cold dispassionate tone sending a chill down Makoto’s spine. “Listen” he then sighed at Haru's pained expression “haven’t I always done what’s best for you?” he lowered his tone and smiled indulgently as he reached out to stroke his thumb gently along Haru’s cheekbone “even when you couldn’t see it for yourself?"

Haru blinked slowly whilst his mind seemed to race, his breathing audibly laboured as he exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightly set.

“I know” he admitted quietly, his expression becoming dull and closed off as he shifted to stare at the ground.

Makoto couldn’t help but swallow hard as he looked back and forth between them, a sudden ache in his chest and a cold queasy feeling settling in his stomach. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t healthy, and this wasn’t the Haru he knew.  
  
  


 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im really sorry for my absence, but I've not been well. I do hope to pick up regular updates again though. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this weird ass story and has been willing to come back to it - you're the reason I'm still going. 
> 
> This chapter follows directly from were 28 left off, it's been a while so you might want to go back and refresh your memory before continuing to read this part.

 

 

 

"I know" Haru said again.

It took a few moments for the artist to raise his line of vision from the floor; his movements sluggish and almost mechanical, the mask of his pale features only gradually regaining control of his emotions, though his muted countenance remained a little dull.

Since they'd met, Makoto had witnessed Haru shut himself off like this on several different occasions, be it as a reaction to feeling attacked or in the rare event he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable. Either way, it was now painfully obvious that this repressive, self-imposed numbness was how Haru had been surviving up until now, a method he'd taught himself as a form of preservation.

And Makoto wanted so badly to intervene - to step in and give Shigino a piece of his mind, or to simply take hold of Haru's tightly clenched fingers and just remind him of his presence and his support. But as hard as it was to admit, honestly he knew that wouldn't be helping matters.

Because whilst he'd sat alone in the waiting room, anxiously perched on the edge of one of those uncomfortable leather chairs, he'd fretted back and forth in his mind between the best course of action and what he should be doing for the best. He'd dismissed and reconsidered the notion of barging in on their little meeting more times than was probably sane. But each time Makoto had come to the same conclusion; that it would likely be Haru himself that wouldn't thank him for it. The Haru he knew could be strong when he wanted, he had a defiant streak of pride and independence running deep beneath his protective shields, and ultimately whilst Makoto still didn’t know the full story, he trusted Haru’s judgement. Makoto believed in him, and he hoped, for once, that Haru could believe in himself.

"Shigino..." the artist spoke carefully, punctuated by a swallow of his dry throat as his eyes seemed to focus somewhere over the publicist's shoulder, instead of the imperious expression on his face. "You've done so much for me, and I appreciate it, I do."

"Well now, I'm glad you can see that Haruka, thank you" Shigino simpered, the smug satisfaction practically radiating from his pores as he folded his arms across his chest, his expensively tailored suit creasing softly in the process. "I think in time, as with everything else, you'll come to see that I've handled your interests- “

"But I can't" Haru spoke suddenly, barely above a whisper as he raised his sorrowful eyes towards his benefactor.

"You can't what?" He soured almost instantly, head tipping slightly to one side.

"And I can never begin to repay you” he continued “because back then you saved me" his fingers clutching and digging into the tight black denim on his thighs, his posture tensing visibly. "God knows where I'd be..." He trailed off, almost loosing focus. "I've done everything you've asked of me so far. But this. I can't do this."

The silence in the waiting room was palpable, even the sounds of the bustling office outside somehow dropping away. Makoto wasn't entirely sure what was going on, what Haru was even talking about, but he could see that whatever it was came as a surprise to Shigino as well.

“It’s too much” Haru seemed to be on a roll now, his demeanour still rather sad, but a decisive, bordering self-assured quality returning to his voice, as he visibly calmed and composed himself both mentally and physically. “this level of control you’re asserting, what you’re asking me to do; you’ve gone too far…”

“Tch” Shigino bristled “it’s obviously not far enough” he shot a venomous glance towards where Makoto remained anxiously hovering off to the side “maybe if I’d have stepped in sooner, you wouldn’t be making such ridiculous decisions.”

“Or any decisions at all?” Haru accused, the newly sharpened edge to his words regaining Shigino’s toxic attention, his violet eyes narrowed and steely, his stubborn mouth an embittered crooked line. “I’m sorry” Haru made amends a little more softly, though it was clear that he was in no way about to concede.

“Oh, I think you will be” Shigino drawled, in that aloof foreboding tone of his that was almost chilling in its restraint. “I think that once this flash-in-the-pan farm boy hack moves on” dismissing Makoto with a sneer and a flick of his hand, earning him an affronted squawk from the author “I think you’ll realise what a colossal fucking mistake you’ve made. And then where will you be?” he spat, the ferocity of his anger compounding by the second.

Makoto opened his mouth to protest - to tell him that would never happen, to not speak to Haru like that - but the artist quickly brought his forearm across to tame him down, his focus never wavering from the publicist.

“I’ll be doing what I want” he said simply, so calmly and with such class that it brought a little smile to Makoto’s face. “We’re leaving” Haru sighed, turning his back and patting an almost reluctant Makoto on the shoulder, nodding a signal that he should follow.

“I’ll give you a few days,” Shigino called after them, his voice raising steadily in volume the further they walked away “to realise where your loyalties should lie.”

 

  
Makoto was grinning as the elevator doors slid to a triumphant close in front of them. He could feel the adrenaline and relief pumping through his veins and he couldn't help but let out a laugh, in fact if they hadn't have been in such tight confines he very well might've lifted Haru up and joyfully swung him around.

"That was amazing" he chuckled lightly, sweeping a hand across his forehead and up into his hair as he exhaled. "The way you spoke to him, ah it was great - did you see his face?"

But Haru failed to reply, and when Makoto casually turned, words already forming to repeat himself, he found the amusement bubbling in his chest begin to simmer down, actively draining away as he focused his attention.

Haru was leaning, uncharacteristically slumped against the back wall of the lift, his features exceptionally pale and almost clammy in appearance, his lowered gaze darting through some distant internal conflict. He almost looked as if he were going into shock.

"Hey..." Makoto ventured softly as the elevator began its gentle descent. Haru merely tilted his head, like he was hearing but wasn't really listening, and so Makoto tried again, this time laying a tentative hand onto his shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

"Hm?" And when Haru finally looked up, it was if he didn't even recognise him.

"Haru? What's wrong? You're scaring me" Makoto tried to chuckle, anything to lighten the mood, but he seemed to have caught the chill that was causing Haru to shiver. "Talk to me."

"I just..." he stood up straight, absently shifting away from beneath Makoto's touch "I'm sorry" he said distractedly, his hand coming up to briefly cover his mouth before he tucked a length of hair behind his ear. "It's just a lot to process - there's things I'll have to take care of..."

"What's going on?" Makoto frowned, "I thought- didn't you just tell that jerk to go shove it? That's a good thing, right?" He questioned, searching Haru's face.

"Yeah, I guess I did" he almost laughed, though his expression was tinged with panic rather than humour. "... But, I uh" his eyes slid away to the side "I just lost my studio" he all but whispered.

"What?!" And in contrast Makoto's voice was way too loud for the cramped surroundings of the lift. "Haru, no. There must be something-"

"It's fine" the artist bit out, the pain in his tone clearly signalling the contrary. "If I start back full time at the art shop, and maybe pull a few shifts at Matilda's... it'll be fine" and by the end of it he was speaking more to himself than to Makoto.

The elevator chimed as the doors gave way and Haru drifted out into the lobby like a ghost. A strange sense of deja vu settled over the author as he made to follow, although unlike the last time when he'd felt a kind of implicit invitation - when Haru had wordlessly invited him to take a trip with him across town, and thus further into his world, now he only felt as if he were being left behind. And he did not like that feeling.

"Wait!" Makoto caught up with him just as he'd exited the impressive revolving doors out onto the street, instinctively grabbing hold of Haru's arm, however within seconds they were forced to break apart when a business woman with a heavy looking briefcase and some vastly overworked hair grumbled at the obstruction. So Makoto ushered the artist off of the busy thoroughfare and over to where a rack of forgotten bicycles were moored at a quiet corner of the pavement. "Please, tell me what's really going on."

Haru sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, before he looked at Makoto helplessly and shrugged.

"I left Shigino. He pays my studio fees, so I'll have to give it up. It's that simple."

"But Haru, you love that place-"

"I do" he bit his lip feebly as his eyes stung with moisture "but it can't be helped. It's a luxury I can't afford, what with living costs, and the old man..." the weight of the world seemed heavy on his shoulders.

"Oh Haru" Makoto whined in sympathy, moving forward to embrace him in a hug.

"I'm fine" he insisted a little too quickly as he placed a hand against Makoto's chest to keep him at bay "it's fine" he said again. The barriers were already going up.

"Are you mad at me?" the author almost whimpered, his arms falling back to his sides in defeat.

"No" Haru softened a little "no I'm not mad at you. This is between me and him, and it was all going to happen sooner or later anyway. I just, I think I just need to be alone for a while. I'll call you" he reassured, though the effect was lost on Makoto as the artist stepped away and melted into the crowd of busy pedestrians.

 

  
By the time evening had rolled around there were many options that Makoto could've explored. He could've gone to Rin for help, and maybe the sculptor would even talk to Yamazaki about giving Haru a bit of leeway with his fees. He could've walked right back into Future Fish and confided his troubles in Gou, maybe she'd have been able to sort something out using her notorious organisation skills and infamous badass attitude. He could've asked for assistance from any number of the wonderful people that Haru had introduced him to since they'd met, any one of whom would surely be willing to help.

But instead, here he was, after two crowded train journeys across town, walking into the foyer of Shigino Kisumi's building.

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuses, as usual, can be found in the notes at the end...

 

 

 

His swollen fingers felt both hot and strangely numb as Makoto rapped a decisive knock against the publicist's apartment door. The creeping chill of winter had finally begun to stake its claim upon the sprawling city of Tokyo, and now that he was standing within the pleasantly heated hallways of the Sakurazaka's penthouse suite, Makoto realised just how thoroughly the cold had managed to seep beneath his skin. He was only wearing his lightweight suit jacket and shirt after all - having not really anticipated being out quite so late when he'd left for the photoshoot that morning.

As he shifted Makoto spared a glance over his shoulder to the dark wood of the concierge's station, which this time was left thankfully vacant, the grey haired old man from before having probably ended his shift some time ago. He already felt a little as if he were trespassing, so he was perhaps a bit more relieved than a grown man should've been that he'd managed to avoid the unnecessarily awkward encounter that would surely have taken place otherwise.

On the train ride over he'd oscillated between rehearsing the things that he knew he needed to say, and thinking of anything but the inevitable confrontation ahead. Makoto was fully aware he was taking a risk, that he was severely out of his depth as usual. But this whole situation was just so unfair, and Haru didn't deserve any of it. Perhaps, he'd begun to torture himself as they'd stalled at an unknown station, perhaps he should've stood up for him more at Future Fish; maybe if he'd have said something, or insisted on going into that damned office alongside Haru things may have ended up differently. Makoto didn't even know the terms of Haru's contract - if he even had one written down, but he couldn't sit back and let things lie as they were. He couldn't let this man take away everything that was important to the artist in one fell swoop. He'd just have to step out of line and apologise to Haru later.

Makoto bit his lip and let out a resolved puff of air through his nose, finding confidence in his convictions, but just as he was contemplating a second knock, the polished mahogany door swung open, and there in front of him stood Shigino Kisumi.

For a split second they were both equally as surprised as each other, before Shigino quickly schooled his expression, and Makoto hoped to god his own face was doing the same.

"Tachibana?" The publicist smiled almost knowingly, "well this is a surprise. Please-" and he opened the door a little wider.

So Makoto followed him in to the luxurious yet unmistakably brash apartment, still brightly lit and just as unnaturally spotless as the last time he'd visited with Haru.

“I’m just plating up if you’d care to join me?” Shigino offered over his shoulder before he slipped behind the vast marble island of the open plan kitchen “it’s vegan paella – I don’t often cook, but when I do I like to eat clean.”

“Um, no thanks” Makoto declined with a small wave of his hand, polite but not wanting to come across as too friendly, this wasn’t exactly a social visit after all.

Having said that, he must begrudgingly admit to being caught a little off guard – this whole situation was a little more domestic, entirely more personal than Makoto had initially bargained for. Which was stupid really; of course it'd feel different to a meeting at the office. At home the publicist had abandoned his usual tailored suit for a pair of soft mauve track pants and an oversized white tshirt, a darker tank top worn beneath just visible at the collar. And yes it was all undoubtedly designed by some high-end brand that would probably cost a mere mortal the sum total of their monthly wage, but it was still rather disarming nonetheless. The heady scent of cooked tomatoes and smoky paprika filled the extended living space, the air slightly steamy from the recent use of the stove. It all just seemed so prosaic.

“Can I at least get you a drink?” Shigino suggested as he ladled a generous spoonful of short-grained rice and vegetables into a shallow white serving dish “I’ve got a nice selection of teas, and I think there might even be some pomegranate juice knocking about in the fridge- “

“Just water is fine” Makoto acquiesced. He wasn’t even particularly thirsty.

“Sure” he twisted around and grabbed a couple of plastic bottles from a glass fronted refrigerator, handing one to Makoto before picking up his diner in his other hand “shall we sit?”

Shigino settled onto the ostentatiously large U-shaped couch, the soft cream leather gently squeaking, and again as Makoto took his place directly opposite. The sleek wall-mounted flatscreen TV between them had been tuned to a music channel showing a glitzy but nondescript boy band's video, the sound turned right down, meaning as a result their gestures and rhythmic dancing seemed disordered and slightly comical. Shigino took the remote from the low glass coffee table and switched the screen off completely.

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way, because of course I’m delighted by your visit Tachibana, but how exactly did you find my address? Just out of curiosity, since I don’t exactly publish it out to employees” he smiled, the first hint of condescension in his tone.

“Haru brought me here. When he was moving out” Makoto levelled in return.

“Ah” Shigino nodded in understanding as he casually picked through his plate of food with a fork “I see. Well that’s fortunate” he took a bite of some sort of griddled white vegetable that Makoto only vaguely remembered as being called an artichoke. “I always encouraged Haruka to bring his friends around, but you know how he is” he chewed “so most of the time it was just the two of us.”

Makoto said nothing, his eyes momentarily drifting up towards that little door at the top of the flight of stairs which led to where Haru's living quarters were.

"I didn't particularly mind though" he continued smugly "it's nice to have someone around the place, especially after a long day at the office. And Haruka's a great cook after all, you must try his crab linguine some time."

Shigino was obviously trying to bate him, subtle little jabs and passive aggressive remarks, forcing Makoto to imagine their cosy little lifestyle together, an element of the artist's time that he hadn't been a part of. A lifestyle with Haru that he hadn’t yet experienced himself.

“About today” Makoto changed the subject, his stony face and slightly clipped speech hopefully signalling that he wasn’t just there to chit-chat “whatever you said to Haru really upset him. That studio, his art, it’s his life. I can’t believe someone could be so callous, so selfish…” he could feel the outrage begin to clamp his joints and muscles tighter, and so against his instincts Makoto fought to dial his emotions back and rein himself in, to keep his voice from sounding too irrational. “You said yourself that you’re only looking out for his best interests, but how could suddenly cutting him off like this possibly be any good for him?”

“Oh” Shigino said curiously as the fork stilled in his food, his violet eyes squinting just a fraction as he studied the author’s face intently “he didn’t tell you did he? Interesting” a devious smile on his lips as he tilted his head to the side.

“Tell me what?” Makoto queried, uncertainty creeping up the back of his throat unbidden.

“You see,” Shigino slid his half-finished plate onto the table before leaning back against the couch “frankly, I’m not the one here that's making difficulties for Haruka. I’ve only ever been thinking about his success. Maybe, you should be taking a look at yourself.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted, the defensiveness more present in his tone than Makoto would’ve liked. Shigino simply let out a sigh, looking at him almost pityingly.

“Listen, honestly you talk about his art, and yet you waste his time with mere children’s books? No offence but his talent is being severely misspent on these silly little projects. Answer me this, how many _real_ paintings has he produced in the last four months?”

“That’s-”

“He hasn’t sullied a single canvas. Unless it’s been for you.”

Makoto was left a little speechless.

“So who’s the one here being selfish?" Shigino asked, with a patronising kindness that belied an undercurrent of bitterness and spite. "Monopolising his time, distracting him from realising his potential? And I know that you two are dating” he spoke the word as if it was a thoroughly ridiculous concept, like they were two young children playing at a game of house.

“W-what's that got to do with anything-” but Shigino was on a roll.

"It's rather telling that you can't see it Tachibana. How self-centred you've been, how your actions have so detrimentally affected his work."

"Hey!" Makoto countered angrily, his fingers gripping tensely at his knees "I'd never force Haru into doing something he didn't want to do; the book, a-anything else, it's always been his decision to make."

"Heh" Shigino chuckled humourlessly "I suppose that much is true, he seems to have made his choice this afternoon."

"Choice?" Makoto furrowed his brow.

"I simply gave him two options" he explained, propping his elbow on the back of the couch and resting his head in his hand. "He could either carry on enjoying the benefits I've afforded to him thus far - my professional guidance, the upkeep of his studio, a modest but guaranteed income. Or, he could have you."

"You... gave him an ultimatum?" Makoto questioned in disbelief, his mouth suddenly dry as his brain tried to comprehend what all this meant.

"I suppose you could call it that" he shrugged. "You must feel very honoured" Shigino sneered "he wouldn't give up that stupid book, he wouldn't cut you out."

"What the hell?!" Makoto was jumping up from the couch, pulling at clumps of his hair and beginning to pace, Shigino merely watching him freak out blankly. "Why would you do that to him?" He was asking no one in particular "this isn't fair, he shouldn't have to choose. God, I couldn't lose him again..."

"And there it is" Shigino scoffed with contempt, standing up himself and taking his abandoned meal back to the kitchen "that's what it really comes down to, how _you_ don't want to let him go. Can you see the pattern here? Oh, it must be nice for you; poor needy little Haruka, an attractive little twink to keep you occupied in the big city.”

"What're you even talking about?" Makoto dropped his hands to his sides as he pivoted around to face him with incredulity. He wasn't dumb, he knew what that term meant, he recognised it from some of the websites he'd been frequenting of late. But to imply that he was somehow taking advantage of Haru, that he didn't in fact care about the artist's happiness above almost anything else, well that was too much to take. "That's bullshit" he brought his hands down on the marble counter between them, his temper finally beginning to break free of its tenuous constraints. "You're the one who's doing this to him not me! I mean don't get me wrong, I've never really liked this whole setup you've got going, but why can't he do both? Why should it matter to you who he sees? And this book has been good for him too, you don't understand how hard he's worked-"

"I don't understand?" Shigino's voice raised to match Makoto's volume, punctuated with a loud metallic clatter as he threw his cutlery into the sink. "I think you're forgetting that you're the new kid here Makoto" and that was the first time he'd used his name, but it was anything but friendly. "I've been there since the beginning. You've no idea what a state he'd gotten himself into, he was pathetic. You're the one who doesn't understand the work that's gone in to getting him where he is. Where he was, before you came along. And don't you think it's rather strange that he didn't want to tell you about this practically life changing decision he made today, that he chose you? Surely he'd be confident enough to share that. But let me guess, he clammed up and walked away didn't he? So maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do, and maybe he isn't as convinced as he thought he was."

Makoto gritted his teeth against the frustration in his throat, and his eyes prickled as his line of sight dropped down to focus on where his shaking hands were still resting on the countertop. His head felt like it was going to explode.

"But since you're here now, I'll give you the chance to make this right" Shigino seemed to change his tack. "You have the opportunity to do what's right, for Haruka."

At that Makoto looked up, the pain in his chest almost crippling as he contemplated where this conversation might be headed.

"If you can agree to my terms I'll reinstate all of the assistance he needs to further his career, to be the internationally renowned artist he is destined to be. And you will have helped him get there, this is the gift you can give him."

Makoto fought to choke back the sob that was threatening to slip free from his crumbling resolve. Was this really the right thing to do, or would he be holding Haru back if he refused? He remembered how Haru had trembled in the elevator as they'd left Future Fish, how pale and distant he'd been.

"Naturally you'll have to terminate your relationship" and shigino's businesslike tone was barely managing to penetrate the numbness that had descended on the author. "You'll need to agree not to try to make contact, and of course it goes without saying that you're going to have to find a new illustrator for any future endeavours."

The publicist had at some point reached into one of the kitchen draws and pulled out a pad of paper; he was already writing up a contract. Was Makoto really about to do this?

"Sign and date just here-" Shigino handed him the pen.

 

  
The next morning Makoto woke to the sound of incessant banging, the deafening noise causing his tired swollen eyes to begrudgingly squint open after what felt like only a few measly minutes of sleep. But as much as he dearly wanted to, he couldn't ignore the racket, so he dragged his miserable aching body from beneath his blankets and stumbled towards his door, intent on telling whoever it was to go the hell away.

He'd barely managed to turn the key in the lock before the door was being pulled outward off its hinges, a fist bunching in his tshirt and dragging him forward by the collar.

"What the fuck did you do?" Rin's furious red eyes glowered mere inches from his own.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, writing is taking me a long time these days. Once I get into it I'm alright but motivation hasn't really been there over a busy Christmas and January, I do apologise. I've known for a long time how all of this will go down, it's just getting it out of my head that seems a stumbling block at times. But I hope you still like this update though, and thank you to those readers who sent me encouraging messages in the mean time - I'm not exaggerating when I say they keep me typing! Also, I'm a little preoccupied with planning the logistics of my upcoming trip to Japan this Easter, so the next chapter may be a little delayed again. Sozza.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. You alright? Good. Fine thanks. Here, have this chapter.

 

 

 

 

  
“Rin? What’re you doing here- “

“Cut the crap” the sculptor growled, shoving Makoto hard by the shoulder and barging past him into the apartment.

Across the corridor, an awkward Momotarou loitered silently in his own entryway, a look of confused concern replacing his usual happy-go-lucky expression. Makoto merely nodded a polite good morning, somehow too embarrassed even to make eye contact as he slowly closed the door.

“So what’s this all about Rin, because I'm not really in the mood" he sighed, tiredly running a hand through his unkempt hair as he turned.

“Don’t you act dumb with me” Rin threatened with a jab of a finger as he broke from his agitated pacing. “What could this possibly be about I wonder? What did I specifically warn you not to do?”

“Uh…”

“I told you not to screw him over” he spat “I told you not to make him run again” and there against all expectations Makoto recognised the icy shimmer of panic that hid behind the angry fire within Rin's eyes; eyes which now on closer inspection looked suspiciously close to tears.

“Haru?” and Makoto’s mouth seemed suddenly dry “what’s happened?” He rasped.

“You tell me!” Rin bit out incredulously, the frustration causing his fingers to curl into fists, the muscles and veins on his bare arms visibly straining in response. He was wearing an old sleeveless shirt and a pair of dusty jeans, obviously more suited to the studio than the chill of the streets outside, not that Rin seemed to have noticed the cold. “What the hell did you say to him Makoto?”

“N-nothing” the author stuttered defensively, a small crease appearing between his brows as he tried to understand. “I did see him yesterday, but well, he had a disagreement – not with me though” he hastened to add as he could see Rin was about to interject. “Haru said that he needed time to think, so I let him have some space. But, I’ve fixed all that” he quietly choked on that last part, as the physical ache began to seep its way back into Makoto’s bones, his mind returning to that harsh reality once again after the momentary distraction. “Last night, I went to see Shigino-”

“So it’s true what he said, this _is_ all down to you” Rin accused.

“What? Haru said that?”

“No. Shigino did.”

"Shigino? Wait, when did you-"

"That fucking slime ball was at Studio Free this morning..." Rin began to pace again.

"What?" Makoto squawked, his eyes shot wide with panic. "But he said he'd let me talk to Haru first, to explain everything-"

"Well, surprise" Rin interrupted again, gesturing sarcastically with his hands thrown up in the air "the guy's a total psychopath - he's got the morals of a super villain and his word don't mean shit."

"Oh god" Makoto paled, his hand coming up to cover his eyes and then sliding down over his mouth. "What happened?"

"Okay," Rin huffed, studying the author warily for a moment. He'd obviously charged over there with the express intention of beating the crap out of him, and it was clear that he had yet to fully rule that possibility out. "So I was at the studio super early - I needed to use my heavy duty chainsaw for this piece I'm working on and, well the noise kinda pisses people off when I use it later in the day. Anyway-" he shook his head, as if to dispel the irrelevant information "when I'd finished and took off my ear protectors, I could hear this blazing row coming from across the way."

"From Haru's studio?"

"Yeah" Rin nodded gravely. "And of course, I had to go check it out - Haru's my best friend, he's family" he reminded purposefully. "When I get in there, there's just stuff everywhere - easels tipped over and all Haru's books were in boxes" Rin's brows knitted together as he pictured the scene and evidently still tried to make sense of it. "I managed to get in between them, Shigino's all up in his face and even though Haru's givin' just as much back, I could tell he was pretty shaken up." Rin's jaw set as he bit down on the memory of Haru being threatened, and his crimson eyes were back to smouldering anger.

"W-what did Haru say?" Makoto winced when that glare was directed at him.

"Nothing" Rin exhaled "he just used the distraction to grab a stack of sketch pads and bail. I tried, but he looked like he'd been crying."

"Oh Haru" Makoto whined.

"And that's when I confronted Shigino. I wanted to punch that satisfied smirk off his pompous face so bad, but then he said I should ask _you_ if I wanted to know what Haru was so upset about, that it was all because of you." Rin had crossed his arms over his chest, the toned biceps of his bare upper arms flexing with irritation as he glared at him expectantly. The sight was quite frankly intimidating.

"Me?" Makoto squeaked.

"Yes!" He hissed in frustration, advancing forward, and in turn causing Makoto to take a step backwards and so bump into the rear of the couch. "Just tell me what the fuck's going on!"

"Alright, alright!" Makoto instinctively raised his hands up in surrender, before instantly having to lower them again to steady himself on the back of the couch. "But you have to believe me, I didn't mean it to go like this..."

"Spill" the sculptor warned.

And so, for the next several minutes, Makoto reiterated every last agonising detail of the events of the previous day. He started with how Haru had tensed up and silently obeyed as Shigino pulled him out of their photoshoot in front of everyone. How he'd barred Matoto from entering his office, and then how he'd laid his hands on Haru when he subsequently tried to leave.

Rin was scowling and cursing under his breath throughout, only halting in his indignant fidgeting when Makoto recounted the events that had followed in the elevator.

"He said that he'd lost his studio?" Rin almost whispered the question, his eyes blown wide and a grimace contorting his features. The quiet stillness of his shock made for too much of a contrast.

"That's right" he nodded sullenly.

Makoto was then merely a few sentences in to his following explanation of what he did next, before Rin was recovered and jumping down his throat, alternating between bombarding him with expletives and pulling on his own hair as he redundantly pointed out how stupid a move that had been.

And oh, Makoto knew. It'd been the first emotion to bleed into his catatonic bubble, his raw skin prickling and itching as if he'd somehow been brushed by stinging nettles. It was guilt.

He regretted everything. All of this could've been avoided if he'd just stayed with Haru, or simply asked Rin for help before blundering in and making things worse. He'd been on a train when he realised; he hadn't actually remembered leaving Shigino, or even passing the ticket barrier, he wasn't entirely sure where he was. But the cold realisation settled over him like a slowly rising tide, like the carriage was filling up with water and he was just too slow to react.

If he really thought about it, _he_ was the reason why Haru was going through all this. If he hadn't involved himself so insistently in the artist's life, Haru would still have what he needed to be happy. If only Makoto hadn't kissed him...

Shigino was right, he was a selfish person.

"Oi!" and Rin was shaking him roughly, his hands clutching at Makoto's shoulders and jostling him around in an attempt to regain his attention. "I said stop spacing out and tell me what happened you dumbass!"

Makoto blinked, and refocused on the irritated face that peered at him from way too close a distance.

"Right" he swallowed dryly, bowing his head and wrapping his arms around himself, as Rin took a reluctant step away. "So I asked him why he'd done it" Makoto continued, staring numbly down at the cat patterned socks that were still on his feet from the night before. "I asked him, if he was always doing what's best for Haru, how could he do this to him?"

"...And?" Rin prompted apprehensively, no doubt already having sensed the strange shift in atmosphere.

"Shigino said he was trying to make Haru a success. That he'd given him an ultimatum, told him he could either keep the studio or stay with me" his voice cracked and tightened as Makoto felt the all too familiar sting of moisture at the inner corners of his eyes.

"And so of course Haru chose to stick with you" the sculptor sighed. "That conniving bastard, I fucking knew Shigino would pull something like this eventually. God, I wish I'd decked him while I had the chance" he seethed.

Makoto closed his eyes and waited for the penny to drop.

"But... so hold on" Rin turned slowly pointing back to him, confusion in his tone "where is he, why isn't Haru here with you now? What did you do?”

"I didn't mean to" he whimpered "that wasn't what I wanted when I first went to see him. But Shigino, he made me realise-" and Makoto took a shuddering breath, not fully ready to speak his pain out loud.

"What did you do" repeated Rin, this time very much harsher than the last.

"I made an agreement, a contract. I promised I wouldn't see Haru anymore" and he forced the words to come out, like each strangled syllable that fell from his lips dragged with it a piece of himself.

"You did _what_?" Run growled "are you fucking real?"

"I was going to talk to him first!" Makoto wailed, holding his head in his hands. "I was going to make it alright - to explain to him that this was the only way. That I love him, I do, and I'd wait as long as it took to achieve his dream." By the end of it, it was obvious he was trying his hardest just to convince himself.

"After all that you knew" Rin's voice was deadly cold "everything that he's been through, with his family, what happened to Minato. Do you realise how much it must have taken for Haru to trust again? Fuck, even for him to let you back in after the first time."

"I didn't mean-"

" _You fucking knew_!" Rin was shouting, grabbing fistfuls of the author's shirt, shoving and thumping erratic blows against his upper body. And for the life of him, Makoto couldn't find it within himself to defend against them.

"Rin, I'm sorry-"

"No!" The sculptor staggered back, his right arm raised up high to hide his face in the crook of his elbow. "You don't get to apologise to me" he sniffled, his voice noticeably shaking and raw.

Makoto stood and ached in silence as Rin cleared the tear tracks from his face, as he swept long red tendrils of hair behind his ears and fought to bring his breathing under control.

"You're going to fix this" he finally spoke, with his hands on his hips and a clear reluctance to meet Makoto's eye. "You're going to find him. You're going to _call me_ when you do" he clarified bitterly "and then you're going to get down on your knees and beg for his forgiveness. Understand?"

"Y-yes" Makoto nodded "but how-"

"I'm gonna help."

"Rin... thank you so much-"

"Don't."

 

 

 

 


End file.
